Proud
by AoiNoKitsune
Summary: Updated, finally :) We're nearing the conclusion too. R&R guys!
1. The first blank page

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*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

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Digimon fanfic: **Proud -** intro**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_November 2002

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Author's notes: Just a quick intro's ahead – more info in the first chappter ^.^ Here we goooooo!!

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A blank paper.

A white page.

A loss of words.

A loss of lines.

Nothing but whiteness, endless blank whiteness...

Where am I supposed to begin? There's so much I have to write about that I have no idea where to start. I can't begin with the present, because it's all in my past. I can't start with the past because it's too vast for me.

Takeru would know, I think.

Yeah... Takeru... what would be the first word _he'd_ write?

If I look deep enough inside me I'm sure I'll be able to feel his thoughts...

Yes, _these_ thoughts...

I believe he'd let his pencil scroll this way... **X**


	2. Life awaits

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*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud -** chapter n°1**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_December 2002

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*Rating: R  
***Categories:** yaoi, yuri, a bit of lemon and a sprinkle of angst (or something)  
***Dedication:** it was basically meant 4 Ana-chan's fic contest ^^  
***Author's notes:**   
*The lyrics belong to Heather Small. I have no idea of who she is, but the song's OK. Did I mention it's one of the Queer As Folk themes?   
*No digimon, no sir. Well allmost. I'd probably go nuts with so many characters X.x  
*This freakin fic's supposed to be purely psychological since I can't get over the E I've got in Psyche. Am I really all that tick-sculled when it comes to human interaction? Go ahead and mail me what you think – I'm curious.

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His fingers seemed to flow over the keyboard of his laptop. Wont and skilled in computers as he was, he had properly developed the ability to type automatically as his teacher, at the far front of the classroom, dictated literature and still be able to let his mind wander. Indeed, the first student of the school (which was his steady title in every school he ever entered, the current information science high being no exception) was finding out that he was somewhat beginning to develop interest in many other things than pure school education. Things that were supersedingly beginning to make his thoughts wander, making him daydream when he was supposed to keep his mind on the school-task at hand. Although he still successfully kept his reputation high, it was beginning to show. It was not like he could put his finger on the cause, but he felt awfully empty being alone just typing away on his laptop, his best pal for as long as he could remember. Instead he felt great when he spent time with his 'flesh' friends. He was never much of a party spirit, but letting his thoughts drift he became aware that he was practically looking forward for his classes to pass, thing that never happened to him before... That's when he'd meet Iyou in front of the school. For some reason the tall slender boy always waited for him even tough the medicine university was quite far from his high school, plus they lived on almost opposite sides of Tokyo.

'Some reason' my ass. He does that because we're friends, Koushiro sighed finding himself longingly silly. He had always felt at ease talking to his friend. Iyou was the most sincere and accepting person he had ever known. The pale complexion and soft warm smile were what he craved to see when he felt down, the ebony-deep eyes, always full of sincere compassion, enchanted by a pair of light black-rimmed glasses were what soothed his soul when it bleed with sorrow and the silky blue locks, which trough the years have grown down to his shoulders, embraced his face tenderly. He felt them brush upon his cheek a few times as the older boy hugged him close for support... Iyou was very handsome and evenly unaware so, Koushiro mused. A little frown drew on his face and his fingers abruptly stopped typing. Was it normal for him to think of Iyou in that way? Of course it was. He had eyes too, didn't he?

/ I look into the window of my mind /

It wasn't like his last thought was overly assuring. It sounded hollow, even to him. He starred at the screen of the laptop beyond him blankly. Something was... different. He only wished he could go back to when school came first on his most-important-things-in-life list. What was the first thing now...?

"Mr. Izumi? What are you thinking so intensely about?"

"Iyou..." he sighed spleenfully, still glaring at the monitor, at his faint reflection... until he abruptly realized it had company. His teacher's face glared annoyed back at him. He froze suddenly catapulted back to the reality of the classroom, his teacher leaning over his shoulder.

"Iyou? Your friend from Toei [1] ?" he heard his teacher's voice in his ear. He stiffened and gulped, never removing his eyes from his teacher's reflection on the monitor. His short black hair was as always enticed with a slight greenish hue and his deep black eyes, framed by elegant oval glasses, studied him thoroughly. He then felt more than heard him move forward and lean upon him, those finely wide shoulders topped his and soft lips almost touched his ear. Wide hands took place near his, on the desk, thumbs just brushing them. "You know what that means, don't you?"

There was something sleek about the way his tutor said that, something that made him blush crimson. He could feel his classmates' eyes on them, watching and wondering what were they doing. He felt repressed, unclean all of a sudden, but he couldn't move - the proximity of the man seemed to enflame him. Even breaths on his neck making it all too hard to think, sending forbidden bolts of pleasure trough his veins until they reached his groin. He suddenly felt his member press painfully upon his zipper before he could even acknowledge he was getting hard.

The teacher leaned even closer, smiling knowingly as he saw the boy drop his head and bite his lip in order to repress a moan. There. He had the boy just where he wanted him. Plan A successfully accomplished. Now for the grand finale...

"Detention."

~o@o~

"I'm done, Miss," Iyou handed a properly solved exam paper to his teacher. To him, anatomy was a piece of cake. His teacher, a middle aged woman with pale gray hair glanced at the clock and then back at the boy, who seemed not being able to stand still from excitement and was practically beaming with joy. He nervously ran his fingers trough his silky locks and smiled hastily at her.

"May I go now, Miss?" He was given a suspicious glance from the woman before she scanned the paper in her hand. Everything seemed solved... correctly so. She sighed and looked over the rest of the university assembly hall that was grievingly quiet, only the rubbing of the pencils upon paper could eventually be heard. Her eyes settled again on the tall slender boy standing anxiously by her desk, shifting from one foot to another, eyes lit with childish hope.

"Yes, you may," she finally sighed and was rewarded by a beaming smile before he zowed trough the door.

Iyou was so happy, he couldn't stand walking, but rather ran as fast as he could to the tube. He didn't even bother to put on his blue uniform jacket and just hung it over his shoulder, his black briefcase brushing upon his thigh as he ran a slalom trough the horde of people exclaiming pardons and flashing smiles as he went. He knew he was overreacting again, but he couldn't help himself. He was a slave of his emotions; whiter happy or sad, he would be both at extreme, with short interludes in between. Childishly innocent, with no subterfuge... this was how people often marked him and liked to add how much a pure person like him would suffer in such a dirty world. But they forgot of how strong he actually was, and trough the years his once hollow will and shattery optimism have grown into an inexorable spring of vitality and sympathy.

Breathing deeply to fill his lungs to their full rate, he boarded the rush-hour full express train quickly and clenched a handle near the entrance. He then noticed an older woman with three bags full of groceries trying to board too, but the doors began to close already. He quickly planted a boot between them in order to stop them and leaned forward, hand outstretched, asking gently "May I help you, Miss?" 

Rewarded by a tired smile and a compliment of how not all young people are cold and arrogant, Iyou helped her board. "Lucky girl, the one that'll marry you, young man."

/ Reflections of the fears I know I've left behind /

Iyou's smile froze and his eyes filled with sadness. Girl... Marriage... Family... Was that what everybody expected him to aim at? Was that the crest of happiness? The ultimate life goal? No... It wasn't what he craved from life. Not with the example his parents were giving him. For as long as he could remember, he always felt tensed and misunderstood when talking to them. From when he was little there were always strict rules for everybody and everything which alone just called for a great amount of daily stress. His father, being a famous doctor devoted to his starry career, was rarely at home and shockingly his mother never seemed to actually care. She was a strict lawyer, a firm business woman, whose husband never asked how come she had to go to so many business trips. Iyou have never seen them fight, or even argue for that matter. They talked to each other in a formal manner, coldly and manner-of-factly, watching not to say a word more than it was absolutely necessary. They were together just for the fact that the other was famous. Once Iyou had mentioned that to his brother, but Shin just shrugged and threw a 'such is life' at him. It was then Iyou decided he never wanted to live like that. He was never interested in having a girlfriend and firmly kept away from those who were interested in him. 

"Thanks," he said bitterly, his excellent mood blown away in a cloud of dust. He turned to look out of the train's window, not really seeing the blur of buildings and people, a mix of colorful lights and shades of gray, as the city flowed quietly by. He thought of Koushiro- the only person that made him feel like not giving up. Soft short fox-brown hair, almond shaped deep hazel eyes, adorable pouty lips that he unsuccessfully tried to hide by keeping a serious face and a quirky little nose combined with the sensual boyishness of his lithe, a flinch above sixteen-year-old frame was what completed the effect. Beautiful, Iyou had labeled him once and Koushiro had smiled, a bit embarrassed. Every minute spent without him was wasted and cold, Iyou found out quite some time ago. And all too often he felt the urge to touch the younger boy, simply hold him close in his arms to feel alive again, to feel his heart beat strongly and powerfully, if only for the slightest of moments.

His station came all too slowly now that he was thinking of the read-head. Finally on the street again he drowned in the sea of people, a small smile of anticipation curving his lips.

~o@o~

"... and then he said he was in love with Motimiya. DAISUKE Motimiya!"

Taichi busted out with laughter. Not even his sister's warning-gaze could stop his outrage. He was laughing so hard he had to grasp his sides and bend over in order not to fall over and roll on the floor. Hikari just stood next to him, in her muddy boots and with the black leather jacked falling down her shoulder just as it had a minute earlier - or rather when she burst into the apartment. She was staring hard at her brother who was holding to the couch for support, a killer look in her eyes. She was almost wont of feeling lost, misunderstood and confused all at the same time by now, but this... It was just plainly odd. Takaishi Takeru just walked up to her and told her fair and square that he was never going to plot with her again. It was fun teasing Daisuke, but even she had to agree with him she was getting slightly pissed by it. Just like always, she admired him then, acting all grown up and determinated. What ever the hell it was to make her want to hear the reason, she cursed it jet the thousandth time. Takeru, not quite being able to deny her anything at that point, told her right up in the face that he found out he was gay.

And Taichi was laughing at it. What the hell is wrong with those boys?!

"Oh, Tai! I mean... for Christ's sake!" she sighed. Tai was almost four years older than she was, but he was so much of a brat at times... She just stood there and watched him amazed, his high elegantly-firm frame was bowed with laughter as he flopped down on the couch. He had pulled on his newest blue T-shirt and poured himself in his black jeans. His warmly chocolate hair was as always stirring haphazardly in every possible direction, but surprisingly it seemed freshly washed (with balsam on, that is) not to mention there were no nods to be seen. 

"Night out again?"

Suddenly Tai's laughter froze. His autumn brown eyes opened a bit shocked and his mouth was falling open. She crossed her arms on her chest and glared at him with both eyebrows raised. Inside, she counted quietly. Three... two... one...

"SHIT!!" Taichi bolted to the door, jumping over the couch he'd been sitting on and ducking under the counter as he went. "I'll be late tonight, don't wait for me, Kari!" was the line he managed to throw in her direction as he jumped into his black leather boots. Not even bothering to tie up the laces he sprinted up to the door. Suddenly he froze in his steps and grumbled, shoulders dropping. Slowly he turned around and titled his sister the-most-annoyed-look-in-the-world (tm!), hand outstretched towards her. "Jacket."

Quietly chuckling his little sis walked up to him and stripped the garment in question off of her. Watching her fumbling with it, he suddenly became aware of how fast was time actually flowing by. She was no more his obedient little sister that needed all the love and protection her environment could offer her, she was blossoming. And every day that passed, every second that she grew older was like a shower of falling stars, moments that would be lost in the black sea of time forever. He felt drawn apart, far away apart, and he couldn't find his way back to her. Perhaps it was the fact that she was becoming a... a woman? He slumped heavily against the door behind him, autumn eyes taking in her neatly cut oak-brown shiny hair and the smoothly soft expression on her young face. Her dark hazel eyes were slightly swelled, a proof that she had been crying. He knew why. And he also knew that if he told her what lay so heavily on his heart, he would make her suffer even more. Lies were better. Sweet little choices not to tell the truth eased the raw roughens of reality so much. All he could do was to hope that maybe, sometime, someday, she would understand.

A quick smile drew on her lips and Hikari pushed his favorite jacket in his hands. "Have fun," she whispered, gently, quietly, as if in a prayer. He was still standing there and watching her knowing that as soon as he leaves, her crystal tears would spill again. He stepped forward then, drawing his strong arms about her proactively. As if totally giving up all pretense, she slumped with abandon against him, holding tight at his T-shirt and sobbed quietly. Leaning his head against hers lovingly he lulled her in his embrace.

"This things happen, Kari, don't blame yourself," he said quietly brushing his hand upon her back soothingly.

"But... but Takaishi..." she sobbed and clutched at him tighter. She had always thought Takeru loved her. Not that she would ever gain the courage to actually do something about it, but still... Was he simply pretending all the time? Or was he not sure? Why was everything so new, so blasting and so... odd? For the first time she felt like if she had actually opened her eyes to gaze at the world. And what she could see were not roses and daisies but cruel raw ashes of burned-out dreams and hopes. She had lived in this dirty world full of lies and secrets for fourteen years and she never picked up a clue of what was going on. How could she be so blind?

"No one can change that. It's the way he is and we..." he cupped her face in his hands and looked deep into her confused, saddened eyes. "... we have to accept it." Watching tears trip down her cheeks to clear her eyes he then kissed her on the forehead softly. If she would manage to accept her fiend the way he is, then maybe... Maybe she would accept him too.

/ I step out of the ordinary /

"You'll be late, Tai..." she whipped away fresh tears that threatened to blur her vision again. He sighed. He couldn't go and leave her like that. But if he chose to stay home, he knew she would chew her guts out for denying him the party he craved to go to for over two weeks. But...

"Why don't you call Tachikawa to sleep over?" he suddenly snapped. He knew the two were best friends ever since Mimi returned from the States. Something just seemed to click between them and the next thing they knew they were inseparable. Kari would surely feel better having a female taking care of her.

"I intended to, Tai, thanks," she kissed his cheek. Her brother only flashed a joyful smile at her and then he was gone. "Take care!!" she jelled behind him but she knew he couldn't hear her; running as fast as the wind he raced with time as the minutes quietly tickled away. X

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[1] - Toei is a multi-university complex in Tokyo and it's extremely hard to enter. See Love Hina 4 details ^^;

So? How was it? Lousy clifhanger, I know... >_ 


	3. Gathering clouds

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*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud –** Gathering Clouds**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune Aoi_

Sorry it took me such a long time ^^ Thanx for the reviews so far, they were few, but enough to inspire me further. So, um... let's see...

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Sillie: Glad you like Tai ^^ Keep me informed how you find him placed in the fic in the future too!  
**Lilly**: Wow, that's SOME compliments! *blushes* No, heck, I'm Slovenian. English's just my second language (my spelling sucks ^^; )  
**ExBobble06**: =) if I have it my way, the intro 'll be explained later on (I sure as hell like twists ^^). Hope to read from you all soon again, you really brightened my day with your reviews. The next chappie 'll be up due to next week, hopefully. So, uh, later, guys! =)

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It was getting late, truly late, Koushiro noted and it filled him with worry. As if things couldn't get worse, it began to rain. He gazed worriedly at the heavy raindrops sliding lazily upon the cold smooth surface of the window. Iyou had probably went home by now. He would have to call him immediately as he gets out home. Even knowing Iyou would probably forgive him didn't help making him feel better. His friend had probably went home all wet and... "he could get sick!"

"Who could get sick, Izumi?"

He froze again. He was the only student in the classroom and he was standing at his desk, hands in fists, glaring directly at his teacher. The man stood up smiling a devilishly and walked slowly towards him, lazily swinging his slim hips as he moved. The less desks that speared them, the more Koushiro felt the urge to bolt for the door. Not wanting the man to approach any further, he begun to pick up his things and shoving them into his bag, as nonchalantly as he could master in his nervousness. "I finished the essay you ordered me to do. May I go now?" he asked without lifting his gaze from the school bag he was currently pushing his laptop in. He had no need to look how close has his teacher came, he could practically feel his moves. Then, suddenly, slim fingers lifted his chin up gracefully until his eyes were forced to meet his teacher's. Trough the glasses they glowed subtly black as they dug into his own, as if scanning his soul. He felt naked, exposed and afraid. His mind kept telling him he had no reason to feel that way, but his heart dismissed everything, filling him with a strong urge of repulsion, of will to fight, to hide his subconscious from the world... It was as if he had a huge secret locked inside that not even he knew was there, his teacher pushing a lockpick in the keyhole. He had to run away.

"Excuse me, sir, but I'd like to go home now," he tried again, far more quietly than before. His fingers dug into his school bag painfully and he shivered slightly, hoping he wouldn't have to hit his teacher with it to run away if his plea was refused. It was absolutely not OK the way the older man was approaching him, against all morals, and let's not even talk about the point that he was a boy. To make it worse, his body was actually responding. All that kept him in check was his fear.

"It's not time jet," he saw those enticing lips move inches from his. He held his breath, either from shock or amazement, he didn't know which. Was his teacher going to kiss him? He had never been kissed and, even is such an abrupt situation, the idea of it sounded tempting. He gazed deep in those unreadable coal black eyes framed by a slight glow of lights dancing upon the lenses. The man reminded him of... Of Iyou. As if reading his thoughts, the teacher let go of his chin and he turned his back to his student, walking slowly for the door. Koushiro never dared to move until the man paused by the cathedra and glanced back over his shoulder. Watching him attently he surprisingly found out that his teacher's figure was much alike Iyou's too.

"You may go now," the man told him in his stabile deep voice, "but I will see you Monday afterclass, hm?"

Koushiro didn't even ask why was he in detention again, he was so happy to be able to get away from him, that he didn't want to waste any single moment of freedom he got. Grabbing his bag he ran for the door without another word, but even in his haste he hadn't missed the small smile that drew on his teacher's lips.

Running downstairs like the wind he quickly headed for the lockers and after fumbling nervously for the key for several moments he finally got it open. As he flung the small iron doors open, he grabbed his shoes in haste, but suddenly he calmed down. Behind where his shoes were put was a small stuffed kitten, fox-red, much alike his own hair color. It was the one Iyou bought him one day, for no actual reason. He simply smiled and gave it to him, without words. Ever since, Koushiro had kept it close, not really bothering it was more of a girly custom. All he knew was that it calmed him down, just like Iyou would if he was close.

Watching the small red kitten in his hand, Koushiro thought of his friend. Iyou was probably home by now, angry? Worried? Sad? His fear still hadn't subsided and if raised even more as he remembered he was still in the semi-abandoned school, with his feared teacher just upstairs. He quickly put on his shoes and locked his locker in a rush. With the soft little kitty in his hand he bolted trough the big glass doors, heavy raindrops brushing his face, but he gave them no credit. Running over the school's yard all he wanted was to be home as soon as he could, to call Iyou, to tell him, to explain it wasn't his fault and that all he craved to feel every day was the boy's presence. Especially today. He had been nearly... nearly harassed... And he couldn't tell anybody about it...

His tears lost themselves in the raindrops that beat against his face almost painfully. His tears-blurred eyes nearly missed a familiar frame near the school gates, leaned against the wall, blue jacket held above his head to somewhat shield himself from the rain. He stopped abruptly, splashing in a puddle and gazed upon the boy. What he saw brought a fresh amount of tears falling down his cheeks, and the boy's deep ebony eyes widening were the last thing he saw before his vision blurred.

/ I can feel my soul ascending /

Strong arms drew him immediately in a soothing embrace, close, closer, as close as two persons could ever get and he clutched to those strong shoulders for dear life. "Iyou!!" he sobbed desperately in the boy's shoulder and nuzzled under his chin. Iyou's hand dug in his unruly red hair that was already soaked with rain. He simply caressed it longingly and whispered calming words in his ear. It was the way the taller boy was, nothing came before his friends' feelings, not even questions. As he simply held him like that, Koushiro wished he could scream for all the world to hear how much Iyou meant for him. He still couldn't believe the boy had been waiting for him for hours, under the beating rain. His shirt was soaked but still he wrapped his jacked about Koushiro to keep him warm. They stood under the rain like that for as long as it took for the red-head to calm down and further still. After what seemed a short sweet eternity, Iyou cupped the smaller boy's face and kissed him lovingly on his forehead. Inside he cursed his cowardliness for not finally kissing him like he dreamed to, full on the lips. He just smiled, trying to whip the warm hazel eyes with his thumbs, and he whispered softly "I'll take you home."

Koushiro nodded obediently, clutching at the gentle arm, and covering Iyou's and his head with the blue jacket. As they walked away as close as they could, trying to keep each other warm, a pair of shivery black eyes, enticed by a shade of elegant oval glasses followed them intently trough the classroom window.

~o@o~

Smoke filled air, pale rainbow of flashy lights, loud music ringing in his ears and hot bodies swinging to the beat against his... just like he liked it. He grinned his hips in the ass before them, and just like his, another hard bulge pressed against his leather-clad butt. Hands roamed worshipfully over his whole frame, like always, but he never gave it in the feelings. He was a teaser, a flinger, bringing his co-dancers to the brick of coming, keeping them there for the whole song, and then he would simply disappear, leaving them painfully hard and so clouded with need, that they couldn't bear to go find him, but rather grabbed the first boy available to satisfy themselves.

He never went all the way, nobody could ever keep him that long. Nobody but a certain wild-haired brunette soccer player... The guy behind him moaned and grasped his hips to rub himself roughly upon his ass, but Yamato ignored him fully. His sky-blue eyes were scanning the dark club for one and one person only... But as much as he hoped, the wild hairdo was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged at last and murmured annoyed before he pressed himself teasingly upon the heated body behind him, "His loss."

/ I am on my way /

Taichi finally managed to push himself inside the crowded club. It was always a mission impossible getting in without being noticed, or rather groped. He could feel fingers tracing his length and, impulsively, he shoved his elbow backwards. The hands disappeared in an instant and without turning to look at his gropper, he tripped firmly on. He knew he was late, but Yama could as well wait for him once a millenium. Without really thinking he walked for the small iron balcony, grabbing a bottle of beer at the counter as he went. The balcony was placed at the edge of the dance floor so it gave a perfect view below. Forcing his way trough the dim lights and grinding bodes, he never once stopped to look at the enticing belly dancers dressed only in small white g-strings wiggling to the beat on the multiple cubes, all males of course. They were nice to look at and could provide every kind of service, he knew it all too well, but still passed them without throwing them not even a glance. He finally made it to the stairs. He lazily walked up, scanning the dancing crowd below, but he couldn't see Yamato. Reaching the top he leaned upon the iron railing and sipped his beer. The music was bating wildly and the crowd was shouting the chorus, cheering, dancing, having the time of their lives. He would have it too if he knew where the hell his price was, not that Yamato knew he was his. He hoped this party would be a great opportunity to finally spill his feeling out before his long-time friend, but seemingly he miscalculated the possibility of actually loosing him in the crowd. But it still wasn't over, he told himself, he wouldn't permit it to be just jet! So he kept glancing over the folk below, trying hard to recognize his friend trough the thick superficial smoke that floated softly above the dancers.

It took a good half an hour until he finally spotted his friend. Flowing blonde hair, just covering his ears, a blur of sky blue eyes, lean chest bare, glowing... Yamato was dancing sandwiched between two men that were seemingly at least twice his age, but Taichi had to admit they weren't bad at all. He smirked, his friend's dolly look always sent all the sugar daddies around, as well as everybody else that found boys attractive, flying to him like flies to honey. Sometimes he wondered how the blonde managed to flirt with all of them at the same time and still nobody never got offended. Not to mention the way he got rid of then when he had enough as easy as a snap of fingers.

Right then, Yamato looked up, right in his face, and his long laced spicy-blue eyes stared right into his own. Come to me, they ordered, demanded, in a way Tai couldn't refuse not even if he bloody wanted to. Which he didn't. He smiled in response and grabbed a guy nearby, pressing his full lips to the stranger's for a torrid kiss. Drawing his breath again he grinned at the surprised boy and pushed the beer in his hand, "Take it." He then swung down the railing that followed the stairs and drowned between the dancing bodies. He hadn't got lost, he never could, not when Yama called him. Those incredible blue eyes never left him, and he felt drawn to the boy by an invisible leash, the collar wasn't even needed. With his mind dimmed from the devilish glow in those eyes, he barely noted Yamato was dressed to kill, as always. Black leather pants hugged him like a second skin, a vine-red mesh shirt tied around his hips. His bare chest was smooth but chiseled enough to give him a feral look and the silver chain that dangled about his neck only served to enchant the way his slightly tanned skin glowed in the changing lights. He looked like a god, a god of sensuality, and simply watching him, Taichi felt himself swell in his tight jeans. As he finally came near the dancing trio, Yamato drew his arms around his neck with abandon, ignoring the other two completely. They just shot a pissed glance at Tai, but continued dancing with each other. He hard the blonde in his arms shout in his ear, trying to win out the loud music. "You're late," he stated simply but it was enough for him to understand what it meant. 'Hello, I was pissed off at first, but now I'm not anymore cause you saved me from those two and I don't even wanna hear why weren't you punctual' or something closely similar. Tai drew his hands on the blonde's sides and caught up to the beat with him smiling slightly to himself. He made his choice then; he would not tell him. The time wasn't right, jet again.

~o@o~

Takeru was barely breathing, air simply refused to stay in his lungs. He would be here... Finally, he would come... His heart was racing, racing unstoppably, adrenaline kicking on with every heartbeat. Motimiya Daisuke was actually coming... 

His trembling hand was still resting on the phone, even tough several longing minutes passed from when he dropped it to rest there. Truth be told, he was trembling all over, but he never noticed in his excitement.

"I would like to talk to you." That was all it took. Sure Daisuke asked what was wrong, but he never refused to help anyone and, assuring he had nothing important to do anyway, he had offered to come over and help him out - whatever the problem was. So now he was on his way, with no clue of what his friend wanted to talk to him about. But Takeru never lost his resolve. Daisuke had the right to know if they planed on having a sane friendship. Friendship... no, relationship sounded much better, Takeru decided smiling. He leaned lightly against the wall opposite the phone, chancing glances at the main entrance door. How long have they been friends? He couldn't tell. In every memory he owned the brunette was always nearby. Bathing together as kids, or when they learned how to ride a bike, their fist day of school... Then came Kamiya. Hikari Kamiya. Silent and cute and nice and Daisuke was all over her in an instant. Sure he was jealous, but the girl confused him so much he had no idea why. She was always nicer to him than to Dai-chan, making all those gag situations where his friend usually ended being the laughingstock. Takeru played along gladly, it was always a sweet little satisfaction seeing Daisuke crushed down by her... He always asked himself why he liked it, but never made it to chew out the reason. Until recently.

He remembered all too well that crucial evening, last Christmas. They were spending it together like the family they never were; his mom, his dad and them, their two sons, both blondie-tressed thanks to their half-German mother and with night sky eyes, their father's special gift. Their parents got divorced a long time ago, too long for Takeru to remember the reason. Yamato, or Matt - as he liked to call him, moved away with their dad and it took a terribly long while before his mother agreed to let them get to see each other again. And then they were, just sitting by the dining table at his father's place throwing compliments over Matt's cooking.

"... but boys don't need to do the housework, Yamato," chuckled his mom "once you'll get married, you'll never have to do it again." She then raised her eyebrows pointedly, "And I do think you'll marry soon."

Yamato shook slightly his golden locks and his lips quirked playfully for a lazy smile. "Oh, I think I WILL do housework for the rest of my life." Their dad coughed significantly, as if warning his son to move to another subject, but to no use. Ignoring him totally, Yamato looked deep into his mother's eyes, still smiling. "You see, I'm so wont of doing it, that I doubt I would mind taking on my shoulders my husband's share..." he said lightly.

Takeru could practically see shock flow over his mother's face, draining all color from it and she bolted on her feet. She stared hard at Matt for a few moments longer and then her feral mock-brown eyes settled on their father. "... so alike..."

"Wh- what's this all about?" Takeru finally managed to ask, his voice faint and thick with confusion as he regarded them all. Heavy silence grieved for several minutes.

"We're leaving, Takeru," his mother spoke at last. Her voice was low and threatening, dismissing any possible objection, her firm, cold eyes never leaving his father's face. Pure hate seemed to radiate from both of the grown-ups. She then grabbed her smaller son's arm and pulled him to the door, as nicely as she could master in her rage. Seven months later, she still refused to let him meet or even talk over the phone with the two of them, pretending they never even existed, but Takeru was all but dumb. He got the situation quite quickly and suddenly the puzzle was perfectly sorted out.

He liked to see Motimiya hurt because the boy was in love with Hikari.

Instead of him.

/ Can't stop me now /

A slight knock on the door brought him back to the present and it took less than a second for his brain to process the information... Daisuke was there! Breathless he clicked the lock open and pressed excitedly on the knob. His future awaited him. X

* * *

****

Kitsu: Allright, it's official. I desperately _need_ a muse! Boys, line up! *glares at the grumpy bishonen gathering lazily in an assorted line* You! I pick you! *points*  
**Duo Maxwell**: Sorry, no can't do. I've got so many muse-tamers to work with that I can barely remember all of their names.  
**Kitsu**: *gazing around again until...* Folken! It is your destiny to become my muse! Join me, my tenshi... *o*  
**Folken van Fanel**: It's a dead-born partnership. You're too cheery for me -_-;  
**Kitsu**: Fine! You'll regret this! *spots Vincent in the corner* Vincieeeeee *^_^* be my museeeeee!  
**Vincent Valentine**: ...  
**Kitsu**: *beams* Well?  
**Vincent**: ...  
**Kitsu**: ... OK, bad idea (too silent). NEXT! Aya-chan?  
**Aya**: You never watched Weiss Kreuz in your life. You don't even know me.  
**Kitsu**: True, but... ;_; Now I know what you're like! You're mean! Kaworu-san? What about you?  
**Kaworu Nagisa**: I'd love to but... I've got studies at the Seelee that attempt me ^^; Gomen.  
**Kitsu**: Excuses -_-; ... Mirai Trunks! You're not gonna let me down, are you? *puppy eyes*  
**Trunks**: *mumbling as he fumbles around* where've I parked that time-travel machine... Tuddrussel! Would you mind taking me home right _now_? My – uh – mom's waiting. Sorry Kitsune ^.^;;  
**Kitsu**: ... Su-uure -_-; Yama-chan?  
**Yamato Ishida**: Well would you look at the time! My next concert is about to start! Gotta run, bye-bye :)  
**Kitsu**: *glares behind the blonde* Izzy-chan?  
**Koushiro Izumi**: I present you my deepest sympathies, but I'm already muse-working for Assassin9. Maybe some other lifetime?  
**Kitsu**: *having a hysteric fit* Argh! Does ANYBODY want to be my muse at all?!!!  
**Gomamon**: I do! Under certain conditions, that is.  
**Kitsu**: *eye twitches* ... you're not a sexy bishie.  
**Gomamon**: ... your writing's a mess.  
**Kitsu**: *glares* Good point. So, what do you want?  
**Gomamon**: Oh, not much. Five meals a day, a bed and your PS2 should do for a start =)  
**Kitsu**: NANI? ... oh, well. Sign here. And here too.  
**Gomamon**: *draws an x as he clutches clumsily a pencil* There.  
**Kitsu**: Looks like I'm muse-set... *glares at the rest of the bishonen* You can leave now and return to your own muse-tamers. I'll give you a call when writing about your anime though.  
**Tuddrussel**: *looking slightly alarmed* Take your sweet time on that, buddy!


	4. Words of the Silenced

****

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud –** Words of the Silenced **  
**(various pairings)  
_Aoi Kitsune_

****

Sillie: Yay! You've reviewed! (Sorry, your happy deameanor's infectious =) ) Don't worry I sure as hell will continue now that I know somebody wants to read more ^___^**  
EXBobble06:** THANKS!! Truth be told I was inspired by an episode of Queer As Folk (USA) ^.^; Ever watched it?

****

Kitsu: Vash '87 – sorry man, but I can't keep my figers from typing this. I know it's clawing you out, but It's really OK if we couldn't hold hands or kiss at the movies for my birthday. Truthfully? I don't expect we'll ever do it – socciety still stinks too much and it always will. But I love you and you know it, so – in their fuckin' face =)  
**Gomamon**: '87? A 16 year-old? You're 18 now, you two are barely legal!!  
**Kitsu**: ... uh, forget you ever saw those lines. Let's skip to the fic instead, shall we? ... ^_^;

* * *

Daisuke shook his brownish spikes furiously. He had forgotten his umbrella - as usual. And his hair gel wasn't even water-proof. His wet locks dangled about his face annoyingly. He decided to ask Takeru for some of his brother's gel, Yamato surely had to use something excellent quality being an ex-idol and a night-party spirit. Jumping three stairs at a time he finally came to the Takaishi's apartment. Only now he remembered why was he there, that Takeru had pleaded him to come over; it seemed something was truly wrong. It worried him slightly, but not too much. Together they could sort it out, just like they always had. He knocked casually on the door, forcing himself to relax totally in order to deal best with his friend's problem. But as the door opened, he stiffened, shocked.

"TK- ... What... happened to you, man?" He couldn't believe his eyes. Takeru was slim like if he hadn't eaten properly the whole week, his skin pale and waxed out, those vital blue eyes lacking their usual glow. But the blonde still looked handsome as ever. Only decadently handsome this time. He watched his paled but still full lips curve in a tired smile.

"I trust I look creepy? It's just that there's been something on my mind and I..." His voice was low and quiet, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. He fell silent for a second and then his eyes danced up Daisuke's form shyly. Three-quarter skate pants, lime green and loose (much to his dismay) and a white T-shirt sticking to a well built chest under the navy fire-rimmed red-sleeved jacket, all dripping. What a sight! Reaching again those coal-brown eyes he frowned slightly, trying to keep himself in the right mind "... you're all wet!"

Daisuke simply grinned and linked his hands behind his head, stretching lazily, "Well, yea. I was kinda counting on your kindness in lending me something to change in, really." He laughed shortly. Takeru smiled back at him, and Daisuke could almost swear he could see a bit of color come back to those colorless cheeks. Good, I'm getting the hang of it already, he grinned to himself. Takeru moved aside in order to let him in and Daisuke, shedding his boots, walked right up to his friend's bedroom, missing totally the way the said friend's night-blue eyes traveled upon him as he silently followed him.

Takeru was rummaging trough his closet trying to find something that would suit him, so Daisuke settled for sliding out of his clothes, which soon resulted in a pile of wet garments. Clad only in his boxers and socks now, he quickly shoved them in a plastic bag that his friend had prepared just for that. He looked at the blonde - Takeru was still lost in his task. It was perfectly logical, he was somewhat taller than Daisuke and didn't have all those football-built muscles. So Daisuke looked around the room. Everything looked just like the last time he saw it, except that there were many much photos on the wall. There were mostly photos Hikari made the two of them, of Takeru and him, on school trips. Yea... Hikari. She was his first love. Was being the main word. For by now he swallowed his grief a long time ago, silently wishing she and his friend would be happy already. But Takeru never did anything about it, it was like if he wasn't in love with her... But he was, wasn't he? His gaze stopped on the desk. The computer was on and he could see text displayed. He knew the blonde liked to write, but he never let anyone read his novels. He never gave a reason for hiding them and now that he had the opportunity to actually peek at his friend's work, Daisuke decided taking the chance. He quickly turned off the monitor, so Takeru would think the PC was off, and quietly skidded away from the desk. Just in that moment his friend turned around with the clothes to say something but his mouth just hung open. Daisuke glared back at him, fearing he had been discovered, and would get a good shout out, but something even more odd happened.

Takeru flushed crimson and pushed the clothes in his arms moving quickly away. "I'll go make us some tea," he almost whispered, never meeting his eyes on his way out of the room.

Daisuke was stunned for a brief second, but soon remembered about the novel on the computer. He quickly pulled on a pair of dark brown trousers and warm black pullover. They were all but his size, but he couldn't have cared less. He sat at the desk quickly and turned on the monitor, a wave of anticipation shuddering him all over, and his coal eyes begun to read the forbidden lines...

# ... hands roamed over his lithe frame, daringly, demandingly. He had never been touched like that. As they reached under layer after layer of his clothes, he knew he would never have enough of that soul-shattering touch... #

What was this, he wondered, slightly confused. He skipped a few paragraphs and continued to read.

# ... the burgundy-brown haired boy had removed his fingers by now and was climbing up his body, straddling his hips. "I want you," he whispered and his lips claimed the blonde's. After a short while they parted, panting for breath, and the blonde whined underneath him, daringly, his blue eyes challenging, "Then take me!"... #

Daisuke couldn't believe it. Those were two boys! Two males... having sex... Takeru was writing this? And one was blonde and the other...

# The brunette grinned, accepting the offer and positioned himself. His hands lifted slightly the blonde's hips... #

In his shock Daisuke never heard the door open behind him.

#... and thrust inside him with one powerful push. Their bodies became one, one like their love. Being filled roughly to the hilt made the blonde cry out his lover's name... #

Still reading he missed to hear the sharp intake of breath.

#... "Daisuke!!"... #

"Daisuke!!"

The brunette turned around slowly, eyes full of questions. His brain was having problems processing the information. His best friend was... Was gay? All the time? And he was writing about it? Involving the two of them? He stared at the blonde blankly, not quite sure what to say.

Takeru's face was even paler, if that was possible, and he ran to the computer, wrenching the cable out of electricity. He then glared down at his friend, desperately, his eyes filling with tears. "I was about to tell you, I really was!" he cried not sure what to say. All of his dreams were suddenly shattering into dust. He suddenly felt silly for wanting to tell it to Daisuke, but the boy needed to know. He looked down at his friend who sat perfectly still, those oak-brown eyes glaring unreadably back into his own. The boy wasn't wincing and shouting back at him for a start... perhaps he was OK with it?

Takeru moved slowly closer, cautiously. Daisuke wasn't trying to scoot away. He moved closer still, careful not to break the spell that seemed to be cast upon the boy and gazing desperately into those brownish eyes he leaned froward, taking the plunge.

"Sorry..." he closed his eyes softly as his face was inches from his. He pressed his lips lightly, fearfully to Daisuke's, barely repressing all his pent-up passion as he melted upon him. Like in his novels, they would be happy from now on.

/ And you can do the same /

Realization finally hit him. Daisuke shot away from Takeru and glared in disbelieve at him. Looking at those full swollen lips and hovering chest the fact finally sunk in. Takeru, his best friend from the day he was born, wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to... have sex with him... For a long time now. Confusion hit him heavily like apocalypse itself and before he knew it he was running down the hall and into the rain. He wished the heavy raindrops could wash him away.

Takeru stood there for a long time after the brunette had left. The whistle of the tea pot finally kicked some life into him again and he went to the kitchen to pour the hot water away. He then pulled on his black leather coat and shoes, coldly, mechanically, and grabbing his fake ID telling he was 18 he headed out of the apartment and into the rain as well.

~o@o~

"Knock-knock," called a sing-song voice cheerfully. Hikari's eyes lit up with joy and she almost dropped the bowl of pop-corn she was carrying. "Mimi-kun!" she cried and after quickly settling the bowl on the couch she jumped over it, much like Tai had accustomed to, and flung herself in the girl's arms. She sighed contently feeling the soft heavy locks settling on her shoulder and cheeks as she nuzzled into them. And Mimi's unmistakable perfume... For a second, Kari could have swore she had touched heaven, right there, in Mimi's arms.

"Ka- Kari... You're really happy to see me..." Mimi stiffened for a moment, before remembering herself to relax, less she'd scare the girl away. Having Kari against her was doing funny things to her, like she knew it would. But even now, of all of the times...?! She sighed a shaky sigh, as quietly as she could, pulling the girl close, trying not to feel the way the girl's soft little chest pressed teasingly on her own, those firm little nipples digging lightly onto her trough the thin layer of clothes that separated their skin...

/ What have you done today to make you feel proud? /

She was falling... again. [2] Obviously, her parent's idea of sending her to study to Tokyo had been all but effective in solving the 'problem' their beloved confused doughtier got herself on her poor little shoulders. A problem that heard on the name Alicia and had been a healthy-looking fifteen, they could tell. Especially after returning one day too early from their post-honeymoon because of Mr. Tachikawa's flu and practically walking in on them making out. They hadn't jelled, they never did, but right then Mimi wished they would. Silence hurt too much to bear at that point, the air was heavy with unsaid curses, the tension full of misblown slaps and hits that she nevertheless felt, twice as bad, on her bare skin as she held firmly her small blonde lover close. Above all else, Mimi remembered the way her loved Alicia trembled against her, how her smooth skin rumpled in shock underneath her palms. The blonde whispered her name, ever so quietly, and her hand shakily found Mimi's, fingers tangling for support. Their eyes, Mimi's hazel ones and Alicia's true blue, looked upon the two grown-ups still regarding them from the doorframe of Mimi's room. They were united in their love then, sure it could handle anybody and anything that stood in their way.

"Your home phone number, please." It was Mimi's mother who broke that grieving silence. Her voice showed no anger, no compassion, no treat, no nothing. Mimi never remembered her being so expressionless ever before. Alicia breathed in softly closing her eyes and mouthed the number. She leaned back on Mimi then, hiding her face in the long pink locks, nuzzling into the arch of the girl's neck. But Mimi had no intention to hide. She regarded both of her parents coldly, thoroughly. They glared back at the two of them in the same exact way. Then they left with Mr. Tachikawa mouthing "get dressed" and closing the door behind him.

"I love you," a whisper had touched her ear. "I'll always love you."

Mimi had wrapped the blonde in her embrace then and had held her close, much like she was holding Kari in that moment. And if she had known it would be their last moment together she would have never let go.

Alicia ended her life with her own hands three weeks later, unable to keep up with the beating and insults her parents kept throwing at her during that time. Mimi dropped out of school, unable to keep up with school life in her grief. The world, her world, shattered to dust. A year flowed by which she couldn't remember quite well, with all the countless faces of different psychologists she never opened up to and with all the beautifully sunny days that faded gray in her eyes. Her parents leaded on the family life as if nothing had happened and she hated it, she hated the way they couldn't accept the way she felt, but she never gathered enough energy to stand upon them, she had too much trouble in keeping simply alive. She wasn't even sure why she kept trying - maybe it was for all the memories Alicia had given her at first, but after that she simply grew numb, enjoying only the way her mother sometimes looked at her. Seeing all the hurt and pain inside her mother's eyes made her feel satisfied... Yes, she swore she would make them feel all the shattering pain they got her trough, numbness was just another way to mask her will of revenge.

Giving it one last try, her parents sent her back to live in the city she grew up in, to Tokyo, to Shibuya, probably hoping that it would bring them back the sweet little child Mimi knew she could never be again. During the flight she toyed with the idea of loosing herself in the streets, making sure they would never find her again so she could be alone with Alicia's memory until the day she'd pass away, but...

But at the airport was a beaming smile waiting for her and only her. Hikari Kamiya. And slowly, ever so softly, she felt herself falling yet again. Just like the first time she saw Alicia, her life tinted with warmness and feeling. She was falling... in love.

No matter if Kari could or could not understand, for Mimi seeing her was enough. For now, she added mentally as Kari drew back from her touch and titled sad brown eyes up at her. Quietly, sweetly she sighed. "Thank you for coming, I truly appreciate your kindness," she bowed slightly.

"Anything for you," Mimi smiled what she hoped wasn't a too dreamy smile. Deciding to move on to something else before Kari would get the right meaning of her words, she settled for leading her to the big soft couch, settling them both cozily on it, thigh to thigh. Kari looked up into her eyes again, sadness and confusion clear on her features.

"You see, I... Takeru..."

Takeru. Takaishi Takeru. THE Takeru. Her worst nightmare. Mimi's features hardened. She should have known it was his fault all along - it always was. He knew Kari loved him, with all her heart, and still he hesitated in this sweet innuendo that he already knew the solution of. Jerk. She wondered what had the bastard done now? Looking deep into Kari's swollen eyes, already full with her pure crystal tears, she felt herself melt. Who on this world would have the heart to hurt such an angel?

"What happened?" she asked all in a tremble. She didn't know whiter from anger or the hurt that she could read in those innocent tears that slid over the paled cheeks.

"Mimi, I know now... The love I believed in and lived for is hollow! People just seek comfort, they loose themselves in superficial things so they don't see the truth," Kari raised her voice, sitting upright, her eyes never leaving Mimi's. The older girl glared shocked back, not believing she was hearing this from the child who once held so many dreams and kindness, who was able to mend broken souls with not more than a word. The same child - now becomen a girl - was shattered and cold, that kind heart bleeding inexorably. "It's a dirty world we live in."  
  
Mimi couldn't move. She filled her lungs several times before she could mouth, shakily, "I know" and closed her eyes. Darn it. She mentally clawed out the innocent-looking night-sky eyes of a certain blonde. Why was he doing all this?  
  
"Do you really, Mimi?" she heard Hikari's soft voice. 

Despite the tears repeatedly falling down her cheeks Kari was unearthly calm. And her voice was steady, soft, even when she leaned against Mimi, hugging her as close as she could, as if for support and mouthing "Takeru doesn't want a girl like me, he wants Daisuke." Soft lips topped her own.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Takeru is... so he-...! And she -...!

Suddenly Mimi stood up from the couch and turned to look upon the surprised girl, upon those eyes she loved now, the eyes that lit her world again ever so softly. She knew she was fooling those eyes, that bleeding heart. As much as it hurt, she was resolved to tell her the truth. So far everybody veiled her with lies and sweet promises that could never come true, but she wouldn't. She loved her too much.

Kari looked up, confused, as her friend shot up. The soothing feeling was gone, the one that she only felt when she was in Mimi's arms. Expectedly, she looked upon the tall slender form, and meeting those hazel eyes, so spleenful and saddened, she froze.

"I am not worthy of comforting you, Hikari..." words seemed to fail Mimi as if she would brake down in tears any second but resolve burned fiercely inside her. She swallowed hard. "I am just as revolting as he is." It was how she felt, indeed. They were the same, they both hurt the angel that trusted them with her whole heart. Kari was still looking up at her, expressionless, just like she herself had been when Alicia was wrenched out of her embrace.

"You have no idea, ... You- you don't belong here, among all this filthy flesh! We're doomed! We don't live to love, we love to live - and die. There is no way out." Kari was still looking at her, unmoving.  
  
"Kari! You must understand! The way we feel -everything we are- is repressed, shut out of normal society, we're the sewers and there's nothing we can do about it, damn it!" Nothing. Silence stretched between them, thick with suspension and desperation. Mimi was barely keeping herself in check. Kari was never going to be like her, she would never want her to be hurt like that! Being homosexual meant being prejudged everywhere and by everybody, meant not being able to walk trough a street without being pointed out, meant being hurt and harassed by words or even fists by 'normal' people and not to mention that gay societies were filled with drugs of all kinds, of rapes, of fights... Yet even that was nothing compared to what some parents did to their own children when they found out about them...  
  
"Fuck it, Kari!" she screamed, wanting to kick some logic in the girl's brain. Hot bitter tears burst out of her eyes and she collapsed on her knees, sobbing. "Get your head out of the gutter while you still can...!!" [3]  
  
Silence grieved over itself and over the plea that it just couldn't take. Why things always screwed up everywhere they could, why couldn't life be easy? Why couldn't it all simply end, all of this grief and resignation? Mimi was still sobbing quietly on the floor beyond Kari. Why couldn't have she been born a boy? Why did it have to be this way? Wasn't there a place where happiness was accessible to everybody? "Kari..." she sighed.  
  
Soft, almost childish hands touched her cheeks and wiped the hot tears away from her swollen eyes. 

/ It's never too late to try /

"Mimi, ... stay with me tonight..."

~o@o~

"... yeah, I'm gonna sleep here. I'm sorry I couldn't call any sooner," Iyou leaned carefully on the wall next to the phone, watching not to leave a wet spot on it. His clothes were still soaked with rain and his hair was dripping wet. "Mr. and Mrs. Izumi went on a trip, so I'm gonna keep him company." Absently drawing a few of his wet locks away from his face he threw a glance over his shoulder to the couch where he knew Koushiro was. Undressing himself that is.

"Uh... Please tell mom and dad, will you?" He dragged his eyes forcefully back to the phone and his wandering mind back to the conversation at hand. He wondered how was he going to survive this hellish, jet so heavenly night. He would be able to spend it with Koushiro, able to hold him close all night long - with the excuse of consoling him, jet he knew what having him near meant. Tension. Where he least needed it. He faintly heard an affirmation from his brother and muttered a thanks back. Dropping the phone back on it's place he breathed deeply, hoping it would calm down the ragging wake up of that totally useless libido of his.

"Iyou..."

Hearing his name he turned hastily. Koushiro stood there stiffly, in the middle of the semi-dark living room, looking much like a lost boy that he inside truly was. He had his arms drawn about himself, about his bare chest, shivering. His wet boxers hung on him like a second skin, transparent and dripping. Nothing in the world could keep Iyou from getting hard at that point. Like a wild animal nearing his prey, he walked up to him, eyes blazing, savoring...

"Iyou, don't leave me..."

That cut trough the rush of lust, barely. Iyou blinked, breathing heavily, and his eyes met Koushiro's from inches apart. The fear, the hurt, the confusion... he could feel them so clearly now. The adrenaline that was still kicking high in his veins made his resolve burn in a clear, strong flame. Mouthing his name, Iyou sensed his arms draw Koushiro in his embrace. He closed his eyes. It was useless having them open, the world faded away compared to the red-headed boy in his arms and the feeling, their unison, their touch. Physical urges were always strong, but emotional, the ones that ran deep trough his soul, were stronger. Koushiro deserved to be happy. And wanting to assure he would be all the time Iyou would do anything needed and more; if it meant surpressing his feelings - so be it. Any sacrifice was a worthwhile price to pay for that joyful smile Koushiro always rewarded with, not that he knew, or would ever for that matter. It would just spoil their friendship.

Iyou solemnly believed his feelings could never be returned, so he never let himself to fantasy in vain. But he couldn't stop himself at times when sensations surpassed reality. At times like that he would make sure he was alone, in his room, with no one home to bother him. Desire then took control of his own hands, of his own body, of his own mind - ha was a stranger to himself. All he could see was Koushiro, kneeling at his feet licking him, sucking at his nipples jerking him off, bouncing on top of him or, even better, writhing underneath the power of his thrusts... Coming to his senses after that sweet stiffness he always lingered to open his eyes. He knew the red-head wasn't there and would never be. All that awaited him was a neat Kleenex box placed strategically in his top drawer.

/ What have you done today to make you feel proud? /

But, all in all, as he did what his feelings dictated, it helped to keep himself in check as he faced Koushiro. Not much anyway. Yet he was totally resolved to care for Koushiro, and it usually did work to keep at least his mind on the right path, since he lost the battle with his body from the beginning.

"Koushiro," he let that beloved name escape his lips softly. He drew back from the wet embrace. He couldn't have cared less about their rain-soaked garments, but the red-head was beginning to tremble from the chill air of the room against his bare skin, that soft, smooth, creamy skin... u-uh!! "You batter take a hot bath," he managed to squeak, hoping it sounded acceptably normal.

"You too, Iyou," deep hazel eyes gazed upon his, still slightly swelled, but at least shining calmly again. The glow was far from its natural vitality, but at least it was there. And that was more than enough of a reason for Iyou to cheer. His arms flew about Koushiro in joy and he swept the boy close in his embrace, the momento bringing them close in a flash of air and then... All Iyou was sure of was that his glasses were digging slightly onto Koushiro's nose and that the boy's surprises eyes were beyond his focus point. He was to surprised to even feel until...

"... M-m." The flesh under where his lips were pressed shifted slightly.

It was Koushiro's lips.

"Ah...!!" Iyou shot back as if they burned. Truth be told, they did, a bolt of heat slashed though his heart, adrenaline kicking down heavy on him, realization following briefly behind. He just unintentionally, sincerely, breathtakingly kissed Koushiro!

"God! I... I-I..." he searched for words, *any* word would do! But due to his damnly sincere nature he couldn't came up with nothing else but the truth... "... I had no intention of doing that - honestly!"

Koushiro's eyes, his deep deliciously hazel-brown eyes, were gazing at him stunned and were slightly widened. "An accident..." those lips mouthed, the same ones Iyou had been claiming just seconds before. Then Koushiro's hand raised up to his face, as if in shock, covering them and then... The boy's body bowed slightly forwards, stiffening in a rush, making Iyou grab him in fear as Koushiro...

Sneezed soundly. The sneeze transformed into small chuckles and the boy's shoulders shook slightly in time with them. Iyou held him still wearing a totally confused expression. What the fuck was going on? This last few moments were the most intense in his life this far, he couldn't even think anymore as Koushiro laughed out loud. At last, those loving hazel eyes were looking up at him again.

"That was my first peck," the boy informed him still laughing slightly. "So- sorry...?" he offered automatically, blushing crimson as he did.

"You think you're gonna get away with it with a simple apology?"

A whole Ice age flowed trough his spine. He glared stunned at Koushiro, at those brown eyes he simply adored, swearing whatever gods there were for not making it happen, anything but that, *anything*! Make today the apocalypse day, shatter the world, slay all living... anything was better than loosing the redhead!

"You'll have to wash my back for that, Mr.!"

Again, Iyou was mesmerized by another sincere smile, only this time he smiled along. On the way to the bathroom, droplets of rain fled behind them melting in the carpet as well as, ever so slowly, did the wall of denial between them.

Down, way down on the street, beyond the entrance of the building, a black car was parked. A tall slender man seated in the driver's seat was leaning back, his right hand toying with a small gray cell-phone. He threw it in the air a few inches and then caught it with the grace of a cat, over and over again. Suddenly he stilled his moves. His glasses glittered in the faint street lights as he leaned forward, grabbing the steering wheel and turning the key. His shadowy eyes seemed cold as ice as he drove silently into the night. X

* * *

[2] - o.x Christ! Writing yuri's a neck-wreak! Oh well, there's a first time for everything - I just hope it comes out readable.  
[3] - OK... so I angst-overdosed. Gomen!! I'll make sure to make it up to you as things evolve ^.^

****

Kitsu: So? Was there something I misspelled? Was there a part I failed to explain? Was I too mean to Takeru? Was I too fluffy with Iyou and Kou? Frankly, I could have skipped a great part of this chapter because it's not essential for the plot, but... Hell, romanticism won me over.  
**Gomamon**: ... wait a second, Vash '87's a MALE?! You've got a *boyfriend*?!!  
**Kitsu**: -_-; yes he is and yes I do. Will you drop it now already? You know, you're not being much help around here, all we do is argue!  
**Gomamon**: ... *pouts* Are you saying I'm not a good muse?  
**Kitsu**: See for yourself, you don't inspire me. All you make me write is our crap of dialogues. I'm considering fireing you...  
**Gomamon**: NO! Don't! I'll be the bestes muse there ever was, I swear! .  
**Kitsu**: We'll see about that. (I know you're only after my PS2 -_-;;)  
**Gomamon**: Review, you people out there! Uh, puh-LEEEEEEEASE *^.^* (See! I'm working properly already!)


	5. A Brother's Kiss

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud –** A Brother's Kiss**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune_

Kitsu: Hey there, 's been a while, ne? I'm terribly sorry it took me so long but in my country we don't actually have a finals' week, we have a finals' *month* (it's kinda like you're called beyond the board and write a test for every single subject - in my case there were 12 of them x.x) so, um... yeah, it deffinetly drained me for good, expecially Maths, and in case you're wondering (which I higly doubt but I'm gonna write it anyway ^^') I passed with 4,2 which could be taken as a good B *cheers!* Oh, and my muse wasn't doing his job properly ... -.-  
Gomamon: Look, I didn't want to bother you. Good grades are more important than anything else!  
Kitsu: -.-' Says who? (I ain't Iyou, ya know.....)  
Gomamon: Says me, your teachers, head-girl, parents, brother, friends, boyfriend-  
Kitsu: Alright already! . It's OVER now anyway, thanks goddess, so why don't we move to the fic instead? ^_^  
Gomamon: Right. Lemme just add for the readers not to be shocked out by the chapter's title. It's not as incestful as it seems!

* * *

"Isn't that Takeru?"

Yamato shook slightly, braking his eye-flirting with a guy dancing on the opposite side of the dance-floor and looked upon Taichi who was still dancing with him. Flowing those intense autumn-brown eyes he saw a blonde vision nearing them. His slightly shaggy misty-fair hair reflected in all the colors of the rainbow, while his deep blue eyes seemed to glow mysteriously, holding his gaze perfectly. The sweet boyishly soft face glowed smoothly and clearly, the lights dancing upon it. But he looked paler and crushed down. Badly. As the two older boys watched him approach they saw him deliver a few smacks and punches as he was groped on his way. "That's my little bro, alright," grinned Yamato and nudged closer in Taichi's embrace as they continued dancing. He made sure to press upon his friend thoroughly before commenting further. "One look at him and you're pushing the top brick," he smirked and suddenly, without warning, squeezed Tai trough his jeans.

The brunette's eyes rolled back in his scull and he moaned loudly. He had been hard the whole time Yamato kept brushing against him as they danced. He held his breath, shimmering all over. Finally mastering to put himself in check he opened his eyes again only to catch not but a glimpse of Yamato's night-sky eyes before shutting them hard again as the boy's hand begun to stroke him slightly. "Matt..." he hissed trough his gritted teeth. For if he hadn't been pressing them tightly together a strangled cry would surely uncontrollably escape his mouth. "You're gonna make me baby-sit again, are you?"

As if he mouthed the magic word, Yamato's hands were gone and placed back innocently on his hips. He knew the game his friend was playing. Yamato had surely seen someone he found interesting to lay, his brother was merely an excuse. He opened his eyes again, locking them with the blonde's only to find him staring at his now nearing brother, smirking. Why wasn't Yamato considering him seriously? Was he not worthy? Still a bit dazed, he finally dragged his eyes from the blonde's face to gaze upon Takeru.

/ You could be so many people /

Reaching them, Takeru smiled slightly. Seeing his brother always reassured him and filled him with hope and fresh vital energy. But before he could start dancing with them, Matt's arms left Taichi and just in the next second he felt those soft hands caress his cheek, bottomless blue eyes, exactly the same cast as his own, glared at him warmly and soothingly. He could see his name escape those honeyed lips, just before he felt them press familiarly upon his own. Dismissing all thought, he kissed back with abandon, parting his lips for his brother, his teacher, his life model.

Taichi watched them kiss almost mesmerized. Yamato insisted on doing that every time, saying no other way was good enough to tell his little brother how much was he actually important for him. But, truth be told, Takeru was also one hunk of a guy. His slightly decadent way of thinking made him all the more interesting. He was always ready to go for something new, wild, no matter the consequences. Not to mention he had a body to kill. Nobody ever believed him he was just fourteen. Tall and lean, with slightly wider hips and finely shaped out shoulders... While his brother could as well dress up like a girl, Takeru wasn't dolly at all. He looked very definitely male, while still having Yamato's elegant demeanor. And, of course, the same refined taste for dressing. In fact, Taichi found himself tracing out with his eyes the long slender legs and slim hips enticed by carefully chosen dark-brown pants and then his gaze slid admiringly over the boy's lean chest, clad only by a tight white T-shirt, signed Calvin Klein. Countless leather laces and black and silver bracelets dangled at his pulses and an unique, earlobe-following silver earring, slightly covered by his silky blonde tresses completed the effect. But the way he looked contrasted how he felt inside.

The brothers parted after what seemed a short eternity, the crowd's eyes all on them, silently cheering them to continue, but Matt only pushed Takeru lightly towards Tai. Seeing him softly landing in his friend's embrace, he smiled with satisfaction, and in a flash of long blonde locks and a blur of blue eyes, he drowned in the crowd. Taichi wanted to grab him, to pull him back; he knew the blonde had to notice there was something bothering his younger brother... He couldn't just run along after jet another prey...!!

Small hands held him back firmly and as he turned to look at their owner in surprise, Takeru only sighed. He then lifted those eyes, as breathtakingly blue as Yamato's, jet so full of sadness and shaded with what seemed a thick dark veil of resignation and a moment later Taichi had an armful of the young blonde. "Don't worry," he heard him snore in his ear, "I knew full too well he wouldn't have the time for me."

They slumped together, as if knowing each other's loss, and simply danced to the beat of several songs. Taichi knew they would probably not see Yamato that evening anymore, but he wasn't worried about him, the blonde could very well take care of himself. What worried him at that point was the way his body was reacting to the said blonde's little brother who wasn't exactly even legally in the club. After the first few songs he gave up all pretense in hiding his arousal, it was useless anyway. However, soon enough he could feel a hardness dig back into his thigh. Autumn brown eyes met young blue ones and as by mutual agreement they both headed for the toilettes, hand in hand.

~

So close... He was so fucking close...

Takeru's eyes rolled in the back of his scull. Panting frenetically he tried to steady himself with one hand against the wall as his need forced him to thrust up in the firm hand, feeling every rough finger as it rubbed over his length, from the tip down. Moaning at the wonderful feeling this produced, he stroked rougher the cock in his other hand.

"TK...!" Suddenly Taichi was gripping firmly his shoulder, moaning back and thrusting in his hand for more. Takeru knew the older brunette was dangerously close. He had sensed - or rather felt - that he had been quite aroused from before and he also well knew why. After all, he displayed with some of his brother's charms as well. That and Taichi had quite a thing for his big bro, Takeru could tell. After finally embracing his so called 'pink side' Yamato had given him shelter and love, but as much as the two brothers were close, Takeru always felt drawn to Taichi, to the way the lights danced over his wild brown hair and the way his autumn eyes seemed to glow with devotion as he gazed upon his brother. There was something about him... Something that reminded the small blonde of his loved one, of Daisuke. He simply adored those football built muscles and musky scent... and right then, if he lazily narrowed his eyes just right, watching him trough his thick eyelashes, he could pretend it was Daisuke who he was stroking and who was stroking him.

Lost in the ecstasy of his dreams, he dimly heard Taichi groan and pin him against the wall of the toilet, lips hungrily searching for his, locking them for a twisted kiss, licking and forcing his way in. He could feel his hand being removed from the stiffing erection he was gingerly pumping only to feel it rubbing against his own, frenetically. Before he knew it he was gripping Taichi's firm ass, riding his thigh wildly for dear life and thrusting his tongue into the other boy's mouth, wanting more and wanting it rougher. Flesh meeting flesh, tongues darting to lick every surface available, hot lips sucking and claiming heated skin and hands clutching, gripping everything they could reach... and so much unexplainably more. He was lifted to straddle the brunette's hips as he pounded him into the wall, his legs falling on each side. Their glistering cocks never ceased to rub persistently between their opened pants and the friction added to his nipples as Taichi repeatedly rammed himself against him between his opened legs finally caused him to give in. He was jerking his hips in time to the ones claiming them, even long after he cried out with climax hitting down on him. Still sprouting out burning stripes of white, slightly dazed from the mind-numbing sweetness, he could feel Taichi pumping against him, too fast for his now totally relaxed mind to follow. Finally remembering to fill his lungs he breathed in the smoke filled air and cupping the brunette's cheeks he gazed in that beautiful face, full of sweet agony, in those slightly opened autumn eyes... Tai looked so much alike Daisuke...

He claimed those already parted lips invadingly, passionately and Taichi released against him violently.

For a fourteen-year old, Takeru was far too experienced and knew well how and when to do what and where was the limit. He also knew how the whirlwind of climax felt when you didn't reach it with the one you loved. Still kissing the shaking brunette he wrapped him in his embrace and held him tight. He finally heard Taichi draw a shaky breath and at the same time arms folded around his waist firmly, soothingly, just like he hoped his own were. They slumped together onto the closed toilet seat, holding each other close, simply breathing and planting small calming kisses on the other's shoulder, neck, face, hands, anything reachable.

Nobody knocked nor commented, nothing changed outside even tough they had been awfully loud. Nobody really cared, especially because something similar was going on behind every and each of the other toilet-doors.

Takeru finally came to after a while and lifted to sit up still straddling Taichi's hips. He braced himself on the wall behind the brunette and gazed down at him. Reluctantly, Tai's eyes opened. Autumn brown depths, seathed, but tinted with a slight veil of sadness. Takeru only smiled slightly, he knew what could have kept away the bitterness, but he wasn't Yamato, so there was nothing more he could actually do for his friend. The brunette smiled back, a bit spleenfully, and his hands begun to stroke Takeru's back, caressing the blonde lovingly.

"You wanted to talk about something?" Taichi asked, his voice still a bit unsteady. These encounters were almost a part of their daily routine lately, probably Takeru's hormones were kicking hard on him. He always went along with it when the blonde hinted on him. It wasn't hard at all, after all he was so much alike that damn blind brother of his...

"I won't even ask how you know," Takeru grinned and leaned forward pressing his lips lazily against Tai's. "Daisuke knows," he stated simply when he slowly drew back. He wasn't quite sure how to explain everything, so he fell silent, searching for words. Even his writer's talent seemed having left him dry-worded. He settled for gazing into Taichi's ever understanding eyes.

"Knows what? That you're a fairy[4]?" The brunette asked, now totally steadily, hands still soothing the blonde's back, eyes holding the titled gaze.

"That too, but..." Takeru dropped his eyes, almost with shame. He gazed at their spent cocks, entangled together abruptly, just like climax had left them, but he made no move to hide them or disentangle them. As if mesmerized, he stated absently "... he knows I love him. He found out."

Before he could acknowledge his own tears spilling, Tai was already holding him close, wrapping him in his arms and kissing his cheek and ear.

/ If you make that break for freedom /

"It's gonna be fine, Takeru. We're gonna get trough it. We kick ass, so all's gonna be OK,... shhh, we're gonna work it out, I promise... I- I promise... Takeru..." Tai was kissing his eyes dry repeatedly, but as the brunette leaned to do so, Takeru could feel droplets sliding down his cheeks that he knew weren't his own. he pulled close onto Tai, leaning fully onto him so he could feel his aching heart beat woundedly against his own and he buried his fingers in the unruly mop of brown locks. He felt numb, unfeeling, and was quiet, unlike Taichi, who was sobbing out loud. If he didn't know better, Takeru would have swore he had already erased Daisuke out of his heart, out of his mind, out of his life. But he knew it was just his subconscious trying to keep his heart from stopping from the shattering pain.

~o@o~

Jun was never good at cooking, nor she ever tried to be for that matter. One look at all those pans and dishes, so clean and willing to be ravished by culinary expertise, was enough give her one hell of a headache. Thanks god her future was promising, with her love beeing the multi-practic that she was. Sometimes she wondered how had she end up with her in the first place. Things like that just happen. However, that evening her mom was out with her friends, or so she said. Jun often wondered when will she start to speak clearly to them, it wasn't like she and Daisuke weren't old enough to face the bloody truth. It was just so obvious that she was going out with somebody romantically, otherwise she wouldn't come back home with her lipstick smeared over her mouth, buttons made up wrong in haste and tornado-messed up hair when the wind wasn't even puffing. But Jun didn't blame her. Everybody had their secrets, and despite she knew her mother's, she never brought it up. A secret is always spilled for another secret and even if she was sure her mom picked up a few hints here and there, Jun couldn't bring herself to tell her. She was positive she wouldn't spit at her doughter, after all, that was the least she could do for thanking her of holding things together during the funeral of their always drunk father and practically raising Daisuke up from then on. Truth be told, there wasn't much to be done about that at that point, the boy had been 10 already, but still she had to be his psychologist. Not that she mind. Her brother was the only boy she could love.

She sighed soundly and slumped on one of the chairs at the dining table. It was where her father used to sit, the head of the family. Now she was the one siting there. It felt wired a bit... but then again lately nothing she did or encountered was quite to say normal. However she never mourned over her father, she even refused to go to his funeral. If there was something good to remember about him, Jun couldn't dig out what. Every memory his name evoked was filled with violence, blood and a repulsing smell of alcohol. And in alcohol he drowned. Suits him right.

Her gaze slid over to the cooker as her ears sensed the water boiling. She got up, grabbing the scissors from one of the drawer and cutting a pack of pasta open. She regarded the contest briefly. Italian food... they couldn't eat rice all the time now, could they? Sora said just to throw it in and leave things like that for ten minutes or so... It sounded easy, too easy to be true, infact. Jun was sure there was some sort of catch somewhere, there always was. She blinked suspiciously at the boiling water. "Oh well, here goes..." she sighed turning the opened package upside down above it and watched the content skitter down plunging into the boiling liquid.

The door flew open and slammed furiously shut soon afterwards. Lifting her gaze she saw her little brother kicking off his boots off hastily. She almost hadn't recognized him. The pullover he was wearing was at least one size too big and the pair of trousers weren't much smaller either. She remembered seeing them once on Takeru... However, the clothes were dripping wet, like she knew they would be with the rain beating hard outside.

"Heya, Mr.! I left you freshly washed PJ on the bed. Change and get your butt over here for dinn..." She couldn't finish. Daisuke bolted for his room without a word, without a glance, sobbing. Shocked, she stood stunned there for a second. Wtf? A fight with Takeru? That would make it the first this year. She thought her brother got over that girl... Forgetting all about the pasta, she swiftly walked after Daisuke. She could clearly hear his frenzied sobs from the other side. Daisuke rarely cried, he was all but a crybaby. After their father's death he never let his tears spill, no matter the reason, so it was that much more shocking to hear him like that. What in the world could have happened?

/ What have you done today to make you feel proud? /

"Dai? May I come in?" she tried, knocking slightly on the wooden surface. The sobs on the other side of the door did slightly calmed down, but still there was no answer. She swallowed hard and grasped the knob. Easing herself in the room, she found her brother kneeling at his bed on the floor, still in Takeru's wet clothes, his face hidden in the mattress. He ceased his sobbing, knowing she was there, but his shoulders - he couldn't stop them from shaking. Silence stretched, heavy with barely repressed sadness and burning with anger.

Jun moved soundlessly to the bed and sat next to him, slowly, carefully. "Daisuke,..." she breathed, letting her fingers ruffle gently his wet locks. He shivered slightly at the touch, but didn't move away. Infact he moved closer to her thigh. "Want to talk about it?" Jun tried.

Daisuke lifted his head, facing her. Jun was sure she would remember that sight for as long as she lived. She was shocked to find those oak-brown eyes swollen with tears, those smooth cheeks flushed from the pressure of tears... She let her hand slide down the side of his face slowly, lovingly. The flesh burned under her fingertips, sore and exhausted from crying. "Yes..." he cracked, letting his head fall in her lap. Her hands caressed his wet locks soothingly and she leaned down, kissing him on the temple.

"Dai... let's get you out of that wetness first, hm?" she whispered in his ear. Her little brother nodded, approving, letting her hands get hold of the hem of the heavy black pullover. He let her strip the rain-soaked garments off of him, he was too sad and confused to be embarrassed even when she drew down his legs his dripping boxers, pulling fresh ones on. By the time he was fully dressed in his pajama, Daisuke somewhat calmed down. Like a lost kitten, searching for warmth he pulled close to her and nuzzled in her embrace.

"Better there?" Jun smiled slightly, hugging him close[5]. She continuously ran her finger trough his hair, resting her head on top of his. If they weren't sitting she probably wouldn't be able to do it. Daisuke was almost her height... "So...? What happened, Dai?" she tightened her arms about him, wanting to assure him she was there for him.

An ironic smile drew on her brother's lips. "I got kissed. Could you believe it?"

"By Takeru?" Jun blinked half-jokingly, her hand stilling in his moist burgundy locks.

"Yeah," he sighed, nudging closer. "God, I feel like throwing up...!" he shivered, not really feeling sick, just numb and so very tired, exhausted. He let his head slide down in the embrace, letting it settle in his sister's lap. His hair was drying up quickly as she was ruffling it softly with her hands. "Jun, he's in love with me...!" Looking up in her face, in her gentle eyes that were the same cast of brown as his own, he searched them for some sort of explanation, for some sort of assurance it was all a bad joke. As if feeling his demands, Jun looked away.

"It's not all that much of a surprise," she stated quietly looking out of the window, into the darkened evening sky spilling it's bitter tears everywhere. "Why do you think Yamato was kicked out of music business by his own producer? Why do you think I gave up on him?" Her voice was low and quiet, jet totally calm and cold as she remembered her own grief and tears. She was glad she had had the strength to move on.

"Ishida's... he's...?" he gaped, incredulous. "So it's in the family?"

Jun's eyes snapped back to his, iced. "It's a way of thinking, a way of living, Daisuke, it's not a disease," she winced, blinking at him.

"It is!" he shot up from her lap, suddenly fierce, "They're sick! Nobody normal would ever want to... to love somebody of their own sex!!"

She glared a him, feeling wrenched apart from him, painfully. Was it possible for them to brake apart like that? After their father's death they became far closer that they had ever been before. They cared for each other, helped each other out and struggled on hand in hand. He was more than a brother to her, he was her best friend, her soother, her beloved one, her son... all at once. She looked at him, icily, stiffing up her emotions not to crack down. "The kiss wouldn't be any different if given form a girl," she stated firmly.

"Of course it would! Takeru's a boy, Jun!" Daisuke sprang on his feet. How could his sister not understand? It was so bloody wrong! And after all these years of teasing and hollow superiority he found out he had been fooled around. The one he believed was perfection of mankind, he boy who he most admired, who he tried to seem most like was... just a freakin' faggot!

"True feelings go beyond physical appearance." Jun stood up too. She wasn't ill. It wasn't a sickness! Daisuke had always been a clever boy, how could he not see?

"But it's gross! To think that every time we took a shower after PE at school he was actually enjoying himself ogling me and our classmates! If only I knew it before! I swear I would have never ever changed in front of him after football trainings...!" Daisuke closed his eyes shut rubbing his temples.

"He loves you, Daisuke. And you hurt his feelings." Jun gritted her hands in fists. Somewhere along this conversation it had stopped being about Takeru. Her own brother, her only, beloved brother, couldn't accept what Takeru was feeling, what she was feeling. The disappointment she was feeling couldn't have been greater.

"I don't fucking care!! He's a fag!" Daisuke jelled in her face - it was a drop over the edge. Jun grabbed the collar of his PJ top and wrenched him close. Her brother would understand, she would make sure. Her lips topped his in a rush and taking advantage of his shock, she thrust her tongue into his mouth, kissing him for all she was worth.

The moment stretched, but Daisuke couldn't move. The kiss wasn't odd, just very strange. Takeru... Takeru had made him feel similar. He couldn't put his finger at what was he feeling. He felt the need to breathe, above all else at that point. Slowly, as if a bit dazed, he put his hands on his sister's shoulders. As if reading his thoughts Jun backed away.

"How did that feel?" she demanded firmly, but her eyes were hoping, pleading him to understand. He couldn't find his voice. His mouth fell open nonetheless, trying in vain to form coherent words. "I'm a girl, Davis. Does it make such a difference?" he heard her ask.

"... no,... God...!" he backed a step. Glaring at her with wide totally freaked out brown eyes.

Jun winced slightly. She never hoped she would have to see such look on her brother's face. But at least now he was coherent. "Think of how Takeru must be feeling right now. He was probably repressing his feelings quite some time, don't you think? He's not responsible for them, jet he has to suffer their consequences. The least you owe him is an apology." She stood firm and tall in front of him, speaking with a matter-of-factly voice and regarding him with loving resolve. "He's the same Takeru you know for years now, the very same best pal that helps you out whenever you need a hand," she assured him.

"But... but I'm not gay..." he whispered slumping against the wall.

"No one says you must return his feelings. All I'm saying is that love doesn't know limits."

"... no limits..." he repeated, the words settling in. He pushed himself off the wall, eyes dropping to his feet. What Jun was saying really made sense and not only that, it sounded totally logical. "I gotta talk to him..."

/ Still so many answers I don't know /

He found himself in his sister's embrace. He hugged her back automatically, resting his head on her shoulder. He felt lighter and much more relieved. He hadn't been betrayed, hadn't been fooled. He was simply loved by somebody. With that sunk in he blushed. It was the first time anybody ever liked him in that way... The idea of it awoke a flock of butterflies in his stomach. Something lay ahead, he was sure. All he needed now was time.

Suddenly Jun stiffened shooting back from the embrace. "The pasta!! Oh my god, I hope it's not overcooked!" she screamed bolting for the kitchen. Daisuke smiled, she never changed when it came to cooking... Still slightly smiling he walked after her.

Along the way to the kitchen his eyes stooped on the phone in the hallway. A brief consideration done, he was picking it up and dialing the number. Takeru's number. X

* * *

[4] - Same meaning as "queer", "pink", "boom boy"... in another word - gay. *hides a little Takeru-shaped fairy that was floating around*  
[5] - I'm not a Jun lover or anything, but OOC comes handy, heh. I don't know about all the other Jun-haters, but I wouldn't dream of bashing a Jun like this ^.~

What shall I improve? Don't hold back - tell me. I'm waiting for your reviews!


	6. The Right Thing

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud –** The Right Thing**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_December 2002

* * *

"When have you found out?"

Iyou's eyes dropped from Koushiro's back down on the wet sky-blue tiles of the bathroom. Without his glasses they were a bit blurry all in all, but he could still sort out the lines. He was kneeling on them, dressed only in his boxers with a towel underneath him preventing them to dig into his skin. His hands stopped washing his friend's back. The question seemed to be formed on a double-edged base. Either was Koushiro asking him from mere curiosity or pure disgust, repressed barely by their now thin-lined friendship.

"I'm not sure I'm what you're labeling me," he replied quietly. It was quite intriguing what he was feeling. His body remained limp next to girls and boys, no matter the age, no matter the appearance. He was totally asexual for anybody and anything, with no exceptions. So it was that much of a wonder, mostly to himself because no one else really knew about it, how his body seemed to burn when Koushiro was in his sensory range. Infact, he was quite glad he was sitting out of the boy's sight at the moment. He was so bloody trying to think unsexy thoughts and still he was fighting between half-arousal and stiff hard-on. To add spice on that, the red-head turned the almond-shaped hazel depths to him.

"You always understand me," Iyou heard him say, dragging his eyes up from the tiles, wondering where this leaded. It was quite true, he normally always figured out what the problem was, but at that moment he couldn't recognize Koushiro, nor he could sort out the reason of his change.

"... you always know how I feel," Of course, if Iyou was excellent at something, it was sympathy. The link with Koushiro had always been the strongest if not the only. But the boy's feelings were a total enigma to him at that point. He simply couldn't open that link at any rate. Perhaps he was just too scared to face his friend's feelings?

"... you're always there for me," Iyou couldn't dream of ever not being there. But things seemed changing, evolving into something... different. He still wished he could keep supporting his love anytime and in everything. Would he still be able to?

"But now, Iyou..." Trough the steam and heat Iyou tried to sort out on Koushiro's face the boy's feelings. Without his glasses he could only barely guess. But then the red-head turned forth again, and the feeling that shot trough the blue haired boy was most like a mind numbing slap. He felt empty, like if all of his being, all of his painful feelings shattered into shreds of a broken mirror.

"Iyou..." he was given a glimpse of those foxy eyes as the red-head glanced at him over his shoulder, as if wanting to acknowledge the boy hadn't moved. Koushiro reached behind him, getting the hold of the older boy's hands and slowly drawing them up under his own arms in front of him, around his waist, scooting back slightly. He leaned back tentatively, blushing as his skin met Iyou's. The boy was totally numb, stiffened, he barely acknowledged. Tangling his fingers with his, Koushiro leaned his temple against Iyou's cheek, he closed his eyes acknowledging the rhythm of the boy's heartbeats synchronizing with his own. "... now I want to understand you."

Iyou's grip suddenly tightened around his waist and he was hugged close. It felt right. And not just soothing... It was as if he could suddenly feel all of Iyou's feelings, as if they have become equals. Iyou was always the comforter, the shoulder to cry on till then, now he was too. Only now they would really begin to work things out.

Iyou couldn't decide where to start. He wanted to do so many things, make Koushiro experience so many feelings, ... His hands moved all by themselves upon that perfect skin, caressing it softly. "Izzy..." he breathed. It felt natural to plant a kiss in the spiky fox-brown locks at that point. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," the red-head drew away tuning his whole body to face him better. Hazel depths found ebony-black.

"Until I feel all there is to feel, over and over." [6]

~o@o~

The klaxon horned out three times, just like every Sunday morning. At quarter to seven, precisely. Iori quickly laced up his blue Adidas trainers and straightened before the big full-size mirror in the hall. His new denim jeans weren't exactly the best choice for a motor ride and his black sleeveless turtle neck under which the long sleeves of his favorite sky-blue cotton shirt peeked made him look all but a paper delivery boy.

Details! It didn't matter... He smiled dreamily at his own reflection, his fingers grazing trough his long hazel locks. Kendo and long hair didn't mix very well, but if they served to please a certain somebody, a very special somebody, then all of his grandfather's punishments were a worthwhile price to pay. Iori watched his fresh hazel locks, falling in perfect silky falls tucked behind his ears at the front. Too bad he had to wear the helmet...

"See you later, grandpa!" he cried out grabbing the object in question from the small hall wardrobe. The anticipating smile that kept curving his otherwise serious features fell as soon as he caught in sight the silhouette of the old man.

"Does your wisdom advice you to go?" clear eyes dug into his own, in the same cast of emerald green. The old features, scared from time and wisdom turned hard and sharp. Iori sighed. They had had this conversation before, been there - done that, and still here it was, brought up again.

"I borrow wisdom only form my heart," he replied quietly, eyes never leaving the old man's.

The thick gray eyebrows twitched as the oldest Hida regarded his grandson. His disciple was only twelve, nothing more than a boy. A boy involved with a person who counted nearly four years more. This was not how he pictured his clever student to start life with. He was to be the head of the family, the stabile base of the relationship, the main force to keep things going and not...

"You are naught but a fool," he hissed, irritated by the stubbornness of his heir. They were an old royal family, only their own blue blood strained their honor. Therefore they couldn't dream of letting the new head of the family get wont of hiding his face in the mother's skirt - getting a wife older then he was!

/ _realize that to question is how we grow_ /

Iori smiled faintly, calm as he always was. "Your judgement is your own, grandfather." Oh no, he wouldn't let it spoil this wonderful Sunday that started up so perfectly. Today nothing could shatter his excellent mood, not even the accusing glare his granddad was shooting him. "It is what you taught me, remember?" Smiling up in the old man's face he felt so young and full of life. And he felt loved, a feeling which he doubted the old man had experienced for an eternally long time now. But even so, he couldn't pity him - he was his teacher. Still that wasn't the main reason. It was just becoming so obvious the envy that his grandfather nutrished over his relationship. "Goodbye, sensei," he said playfully, lightly, tossing the words over his shoulder carelessly. The moment left him with a feeling of unreality, of dreams. It stroke him slightly, as a memory from far away. He was suddenly flooded with a feeling that he was seeing the old man for the last time. His smile fell as he was clawed by fear. But he didn't stop for the momento had already brought him over the threshold.

"Iori!" His head snapped forth onto the road, hair flowing.

His love stood there, or rather sat, like he knew she would. Miyako was looking up at him from the road, from where she was sitting on her heavenly white scooter, the color seemed even more bright compared to the mock-white newspapers tied on the back. But there was, as always, enough place for him to sit behind her. She too was dressed to match the whiteness of the scooter, in her simple but elegant white miniskirt and a soft, furry looking woolen pullover, just as white, so her indigo locks were even more bolded out, spilling in long falls along her back from under the white helmet.

For a second her gray depths lingered on his face, noting worriedly the sudden flow of already passed fear. A familiar feeling. It seemed just like the one she'd been flashed over while mounting her scooter. But if Iori was scared, she couldn't allow herself to be too. For as long as she could offer him her love and protection there was nothing for him to fear. So there also was nothing for her to fear, she had plenty of them both to give.

"C'mon," she smiled warmly up at him, "we mustn't be late." The boy's eyes, still a bit uncertain, flew back to the house, sending his boyishly brown locks flying. But as he turned to face her again a slight smile was warming his lips too. After all, wasn't it worthless worrying about things beyond their knowledge? All that mattered at that point was that they were together, and were going to spend the whole day proving it, just like they intended to the next and many more Sundays to come. Right after delivering the Sunday paper to the whole block.

Iory folded on the scooter behind her adjusting the lace on his helmet and slipping his arms around her waist. Delighted as she felt him spoon against her, Miyako was ready to go. Just then a whisper touched her ear...

"Promise me, Yolei..." Softening she turned her head slowly to face him, misty gray bathing in emerald green. "Promise me we'll be together forever," Iori was asking quietly. Her hand stole to caress what was still exposed of his soft cheek.

"I promise, Cody. Till the end of time."

But time was running out.

~o@o~

"Why don't you want to be with me, Takeru?" Kari's eyes were rapidly filling with tears, shaking, "I love you...!"

He didn't know what to say. Was there anything to say at all? Everybody always said it was destiny for them to come together, the two angels, hope and light. But while Kari was gleaming day after day, year after year, in her ever-brighter splendor, he had lost his hope somewhere along the path a long time ago. Hope that he could forget about all those forbidden feelings that gave him no peace...

"Don't you love me, Takeru-chan?"

He couldn't look at her, at all. Why did he have to see this all the time, why did it keep coming back like an apocalyptic déjà vu? He was sure he had lived this before. Or was it just all in his head? He opened his eyes again, wanting to make sure he was only having a nightmare. But Kari was there, so very there. Crying her wonderful clear brown eyes out. Shaking like a leaf in a whirlwind. Waiting for the approval that he wasn't mouthing, that he couldn't mouth.

Why, Takeru, tell me! Answer me! those swollen eyes, titled directly up at his own, demanded of him.

Was it all right to tell? Was it OK to come out of the shell? Was this really the right time? Regarding the bleeding wounds on Hikari's broken heart his soul was ripped apart. All was lost. He had wandered for too long and too far away from her, from all of them. But even if he wouldn't, the path he had chosen was the one with no return. If the truth stroke now it wouldn't matter anymore, the damage was already done. Barely repressing his own tears, Takeru lifted his eyes to lock with Hikari's once more. It is probably for the last time, he told himself... If he could master a tiny flame of hope, he would have used it to light the wish in his heart, that Kari would understand...

And he told her.

/ _so I step out of the ordinary_ /

Her footsteps thudded away from him over the wet asphalt. Numb and feelings he watched her run away, carrying that heavy secret on her small shaking shoulders. Her wounded heart was swelling not only from confusion and desperation, but mostly from the shock of them both. His tears were mixing with the rain that beat upon his face and he knew he should be crying in agony, but inside he was filled with naught other but eternal peace.

His vision blurred almost to black forcing him to blink. But the blur wouldn't go away, so he bated his eyelashes again. He was almost sure somebody had called his name. Lips touched his swelled eyelids gently and kissed the blur of tears away with their soft touch. Leaning over his own, Tai's face was soft and caring.

"'s alright, 'keru." Those soft lips touched his nose, once, before curving into a reassuring smile.

Taichi's bedroom, his memories provided Takeru the lack of information. Taichi's bed. His gaze slid over the room unconsciously. Of course he had told Tai it was not a good idea for him to sleep there, but once the brunette made up his mind there was little left to do. Takeru was not going home with the storm blasting outside. Still he had to promise to wake him up early so he could go home without actually meeting Kari. Takeru drew his arms lazily about Taichi's neck, hugging him down to lay on top of him protectively.

"You're the strangest guy I ever met," he whispered as Tai's ear was near enough to his lips. A surprised chuckle tickled his neck. "I brake your sister's heart and you're here comforting me..."

Slowly, as if in a dream, Tai lifted to loose himself again in the blue of those eyes. Smiling. That's right, Takeru had no need to know that he and Hikari were now growing into strangers, that they couldn't find a common tongue to speak in. Conversations seemed to freeze as they faced each other ever so often. Sure he loved her, but it just wasn't the same. Would it be different if Hikari had been a boy? A straight brother? No, most probably not, it would only be worse. And the best thing was he had no clue of what was he supposed to do, what was the right thing to do. All the advises given, although very rare, were mere bullshit that mostly never surpassed the line between theory and practice, despite their givers assured oh so otherwise. Tell? Hide? How were they to know what his parents and Kari would think of it? Only a fool would go for it. So he settled to struggling trough on his own, with his own rules and theories. At first it seemed easy, too easy to be true infact. As long as he kept his mouth shut and freed the demons as secretly as possible in the night - all was well. The problem was that he couldn't keep doing that forever. Every queer occasionally had to face the daylight...

Kari would eventually struggle trough and lead her life on as if nothing had actually happened, but Takeru could never. All the scandals and slaps were jet to come. The least Taichi felt he could do was stand at his side, next to the small blonde's brother...

"C'mon, lets get something to eat before you head home, Taa-chan."

~

"T- Takaishi... !!" Mimi shot up from the kitchen-table chair, eyes blazing. She gave no credit to the fact that the white T-shirt Kari had borrowed her to sleep in didn't ride not even to her hips, let alone to cover her white laced knickers and not to mention that with the lack of her containing bra her prosperous chest was a rather appealing appendage. Or at least it would be for a women-loving audience. She watched the younger blonde freeze in his steps, exactly where he had exited Taichi's room, dressed up like a little fairy-boy slut that she knew he was. Skintight snow-white show-or-no CK T-shirt and low-sling flared brown-denim pants. She felt a strong urge to claw those gleaming blue eyes out while plugging with her nails all over his petite face... All that kept her in check was the fact that Kari was still sleeping. That and Taichi peeked over the boy's shoulder, lifting an eyebrow which she interpreted as a silent commentary on her looks. She settled for sitting back down in silence, eyes never leaving Takeru. Indeed, what was the bastard doing in the Yagami apartment, in Taichi's room? ... the little slut... she bit her tongue not to say it aloud.

"Morning, Tachikawa," smiled Taichi, shrugging off the tension that his sixth sense acknowledged. "Care for some eggs and bacon?" Satisfied when she nodded and thanked him politely, he walked pass Takeru and Mimi both, totally ignoring the way the two of them were staring at each other. While Mimi's was a glance of barely repressed indignation, Takeru's was a pale cast of fear and confusion. What was HER problem? Takeru knew full too well the pink-haired girl nutrished sincere hatred in his regards, but he had no idea why. Well actually he had _one_. Probably being Hikari's best friend, Mimi already knew what was going on and was plotting revenge on her own knowing Kari would have never be able to do so herself. Oh well, just another name to add on his enemy list...

A dispassionate glance he threw at the silently ticking clock on the nearby wall told him he had no time to fool around. If he got home before his mother woke up, he could just tell her he came home sometime during the night. "I'd really have to be going soon," he told no one in particular even if it did sound titled at Taichi. But the boy was already rummaging with the pan so it was just kind of left floating in the air. But as soon as he sat himself down by the table, he got the assurance his statement was heard alright.

"Nice to know."

His dark blue eyes glanced sideways over the table towards Mimi. The girl had returned to sipping her expresso, thing that she had probably been doing before the two of them, Tai and himself, walked into the dining room. Her cold eyes were focused on some point on the wall opposite her as she wore a totally nonchalant expression. Truly, what was wrong with her? PMS? Christ, America sure had changed her. It was hard to believe she was one of the few people who took such care of him back when he was seven... But still, Takeru couldn't help but feel a little bit – alright - a reasonable bit insulted. "Pardon?" he asked politely, but he couldn't help but pour some of the girl's own venom into his voice.

The girl's willow eyes, cold like the very ice, pierced him with their gaze. Takeru found himself totally unprepared and bewildered by the sheer force of it as he found out he couldn't turn away. "Indeed. But I still don't think just an apology will do."

Takeru sat very, VERY still. Mimi knew alright. Frozen, he found himself digging up all sorts of possible damage she would be able to do to him now. Shocked, he stopped counting after the twentieth possibility. Yes, there was much one enraged homophobic girl could do to him... But, truthfully, he wasn't all that well shielded and protected as he had grown to believe. All it took to shatter his world to shreds completely was drop a single word to his mother, as simple as that. But then again, this was Mimi, the sweet sincere Mimi Tachikawa with a big fancy pink cowgirl hat. The very same girl that would let him fall asleep in her lap while she would lean on the bare rock in order to afford him at least a bit of comfort, who would whine and protest out loud when he clung to her skirt too tired to go on, who would curl up with him and Kari to keep them warm when the nights fell cold... In some way, he felt like if he had let her down, like if he hadn't lived up to her expectations. As a matter of fact, it crushed him down even more as it did with his mother, for when he needed a soft embrace and a gentle word, Natsuko Takaishi was never there. Thankfully, soon enough Mimi wasn't able to be either, for she and her family moved to the United States. He couldn't bring himself to picture the way her words and glares would hurt if the two of them were closer than they were. Even like that, he felt tears veil up beneath his eyelids. He had totally isolated himself now, all of his friends suddenly regarded him either with hatred or sadness, no one even tried to take a closer look. No one but Tai.

He stood up. The crest of hope? With things laying shattered unmovable all around him, hope floated beyond his grasp. But he couldn't unfold his strong wings to reach it – they had been ripped off. He was no longer an angel that warmed the promises and lightened wishes in the hearts of those around him. He could feel the pressure of the willow eyes upon him, following wearily his moves until they could not do so, until he had moved to stand behind Mimi. Ever so softly he let his arms fold around her and he nuzzled in her soft pink locks.

"I'm not sure I'm able to do anything else," he whispered, feeling her stiff underneath his calm touch.

He had fallen from heaven's gardens. And there was no way he could fly himself up there again. It felt wrong.

/ _I can feel my soul ascending_ /

And he was right. X

* * *

[06] - One thing that I'm fond of is finding always new phrases to say 'I love you' without actually saying the words. I trust I'm getting annoying along with them?

off to chapter n°6

mail to Kitsu


	7. Pent Up

****

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud –** Pent Up**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_January 2002

WATCH OUT! YAOI LEMON AHEAD...

* * *

The morning was fresh and sunny and so was Jun. Sora was utterly surprised by the expression that was nearly splitting her girlfriend's face. A smile, a wide smile beaming with sincere happiness. One of those she saw so rarely. Jun was standing there, on the train stop near the central park in Odeiba watching Sora as she got off the train as gracefully as she could manage in her long sunny-sand wrap-over skirt. Thankfully, she was wearing her elegant blue sneakers, so they eased the process a bit as the crowd was pushing her out. And to say she had wore them just because she thought they matched better to her denim jacket... She would have surely killed herself in those high-heeled sandy sandals. It was unusual though, Sunday trains were never this full. But then again, it would be a waste not going for a walk on a day like that, and she surely enough wasn't the only smart ass who thought of it. 

"What are you grinning so maniacally about?" she smiled at her girlfriend, hands linking on Jun's elbow as the girl leaded her towards the park.

The burgundy-haired girl pouted, looking mock-insulted as she eyed her love. "What is this? New rules? I cannot even smile? Well I never...!!" This of course resulted in a predictable reaction. She watched Sora chuckle softly as she held on her elbow. She watched her soft cheeks hue with a slight shade of pink and her chestnut locks frame her smiling face softly. The denim hugged her like a second skin, bolding out her slim waist and full chest while the long skirt fell sensually over her hips, making her perfect clesidral silhouette clearly traceable. "You look pretty, Sora," she mumbled mesmerized.

Sora beamed at her happily. It was just the nicest thing to hear a sincere compliment. Especially since she got so little of them from her mother. There were times she wished her mother could understand, but with her attitude it was a wonder she even tolerated the idea of her going out with Jun. It was probably because somehow the two of them, her mother and Jun, have had a similar life so far. Sora never knew her father, he died a month and a half before her birth. As far as she knew, it happened in a car accident which his drunkenness provided for him. Her mother, with all their relatives turning their back on her, had to take care of her child and herself, alone, with no one to rely on. Just like Jun, she had to hold up all four corners of the house, so she respected the girl greatly. Still, she couldn't understand. Sora had always helped around every time and with everything as soon as she grew old enough to be able to. She was honest, hard working and polite - everything she expected her to be, everything she raised her up to be, so to her it didn't make sense. Sora could clearly see the hurt in her eyes from time to time as she asked herself what had she done wrong. She normally soothed herself thinking it was just a temporary phase her doughter was going trough, that she was simply not wont of the presence of a man.

The reason lay elsewhere, but Sora decided to seal silence over it. She never wanted to be touched by a man. Never again. The memories, dark and shadowed with fear, would emerge then cracking afresh the ever unhealed wound making her bleed just like she had back then, straining her elementary school uniform skirt and the hard asphalt underneath her...

She let her eyes glide upon the big black army boots, flared black jeans that emphazed a pair of long slender legs and took in appreciatively the faint blue shirt with a sleeveless black mohair pullover over it to keep warmth on mid-autumn walks. She gazed up, her eyes meeting two lively oak brown depths watching her with devotion and unabashed affection as the breeze played with the long unruly burgundy locks. She smiled, grateful to the spirits above to be able to see and be near the one who made her life perfect, day by day.

"Not as pretty as you, tough."

And Jun was hugging her close, blushing as she went, those oak-brown eyes nearing and nearing... Normally Sora would back up from such public displays of affection, but for once, she could swear she didn't care. Whoever thought kissing one's love when one felt like it was wrong could as well mind their own business. For the burgundy locks playing along with the breeze on her cheeks, for the firm arms that held her in a calming embrace, for the lean frame that pressed onto hers, for the soft lips that melted onto her own - it was more than worth any possible insult thrown their way [7].

The sound of horns yanking, the screech of frenetic breaks, a banging crash of steel meeting steel in full force...

Drawing her breath again, Sora gazed worriedly over the source of the sound, Jun's eyes mimicking her girlfriend's with genuine curiosity. Trough the flash of a gathering crowd crimson strains could be seen, but that alone was, as sad as it may be, nothing unusual. What was unusual were the long indigo locks that were dipping limply into them.

/ _I am on my way_ /

~o@o~

"Are you sure?"

Iyou had asked him that for what seemed the millionth time. He still probably couldn't believe it, Koushiro smiled to himself. His hand stole up to marvel the long silky blue locks, as if wanting to catch the glitter of the morning sunrays playing upon them. He felt at peace finally, as if reaching completition. Strange how he hadn't been able to understand what he felt up to now, as if his crest had been blinded... But it couldn't be, could it? Jet it was strange how something so obvious and utterly good had managed to stay beyond grasp of his mind for so long. It was an unfamiliar feeling, true, but not unpleasant. It trilled him and filled with anticipation as he experienced the deep friendship within his heart dissolve quietly into something even deeper. It felt right, even if his efficiency as a potential parent was reduced below zero. Somehow, he knew he never wanted to be a parent. What if he was torn away from his children before he was able to teach them how to live? Would they be as lucky as he had been? Was he even able to teach them everything they needed to know?

"Yes. Of course I'm ready, Iyou," he answered truthfully for jet another time.

And before the boy could ask it again incredulously, he drew his arms around his neck and brought them slowly closer. With his insatiable curiosity combined with the pure affection that burned inside his heart, he offered his lips to Iyou. He wanted to learn, to know more of this new, jet so familiar world that had suddenly cleared out of the fog of confusion that he had been surrounded with for so long. And their lips met. Such a simple touch... yet just as intense... 

They had spent most of the night talking, sharing theories about their current social state. Both of them had many questions, but they mostly remained unanswered, for neither had the experience acquired to do so. 

"But," Iyou had begun tentatively, "we could try to find out together." His gaze slid shyly down along the warm covers of Koushiro's bed under which they both lay together, suggestively close. "If you want to, of course... ?" And he did, he wanted to know. The unknown had always been his weakness – he simply couldn't resist it. But this time it wasn't just about interesting information, it required physical stability which he was kind of lacking at that time as his teacher scared the guts out of him. So he told Iyou. "We've got all the time in the world," had been the loving reply.

Their kiss started slowly, explorably. He had no idea about Iyou, but he settled for doing what felt nice, like gently nibbling at the soft-firm lips that were topping his own. However, the search for nice mounteningly transformed into a hot pursuit for more intense feelings and as he felt Iyou thrust his tongue urgently into his mouth, he wasn't even all that amused – infact it seemed the most natural thing to be done, and it felt just as natural to return the touch. 

Before deciding it was time to get some sleep, Koushiro thought of something. What was it like to fall asleep in someone else's arms? Especially Iyou's, counting even the boy's swift embrace was enough to soothe him completely. He lifted the covers slightly, hazel eyes never leaving the ebony depths, silently asking for permission all the while he shifted closer. Iyou seemed slightly embarrassed and reluctant, but he made no move to stop his approach. Koushiro malted with his back upon his chest, relaxing, his senses flooded with all that was Iyou... But as his lower spine connected with a tell-tale bulge, he stiffened, eyes wide. Iyou was hard? His head whirled around instinctively to look at the boy, but he was hiding his face in the pillow. 

"Sorry..." Iyou's voice came muffed, "I can't seem to help myself." His grip on Koushiro's waist tightened suddenly making the redhead stiffen in shock as he was clawed with fear once more that day. What was Iyou going to do to him? Despite his slender stature, the blue-haired boy appeared to be quite frighteningly strong, stronger than Koushiro at least.

So the arms around his waist tightened and, shocked, Koushiro felt the boy's hips move... away. A soft kiss was planted at the nape of his head and Iyou's voice came clear in a calm whisper, inches away from his ear, "I'll wish it away."

He felt so silly for being scared. Iyou would never rape him, how could he even question the boy's devotion? Now he knew gay sex was an anal act, Iyou had explained him that, but was it really physically OK? It sounded quite odd and painful... And he had remained skeptical about the prostate-hitting part. But then again Iyou's anatomy knowledge surpassed his own, even if the boy claimed he had never experienced it. It seemed they wouldn't get it cleared out until putting it at practice…

The more the kiss deepened the less Koushiro was able to analyze the feelings. The blood flow that supplied his brain was weakening, he new as much, for the fluid was needed elsewhere. Not quite coherent of his own movements, Koustro found himself easing down and tugging Iyou along, the ache between his legs desperately seeking more contact. Iyou's silky locks settled on his face soothingly, and suddenly his hand stole to dive into them, bringing their lips even closer. Iyou's knee worked it's way between his own and then it happened – their groins connected.

Short red locks crushed back down on the pillow fiercely as Koushiro moaned out loud. How could it be? Iyou was not even simulating upon him yet he felt ready to spasm in his boxers, then and there. Which he found out he so bloody wanted to... He held on the boy's shoulders for dear life, his hips beginning to rock upon the ones claiming them, marveling at the bolts of scalding pleasure that each encounter shot along. He was panting hard, but he never noticed, his lips were too busy meeting Iyou's, again and again.

/ _can't stop me now_ /

"Izzy..."

Where had the lips gone? No matter, the rocking was still enough to build up his passion fiercely...

"Koushiro...!"

Now even the boy's hips moved out of his' reach. His hazel eyes, veiled with lust flew open in confusion... What was happening? Why had Iyou stopped him?

Opening his eyes he found himself looking directly into the crow-black depths. The blue-haired boy smiled slightly at him, planting a quick kiss on his nose and then he lifted off of him wordlessly, leaving Koushiro panting on the bed, erection painfully aroused and clearly traceable trough the thin layer of his boxers. Still confused, Koushiro saw Iyou's hands steal down to the waistband of his long gray cotton drawstring pants that he had borrowed him to sleep in. They were a bit too small for him, hugging his long legs and aroused shaft like a second skin... not for much longer anyway. Soon enough, Koushiro was given a perfect view of all that he had been pressing upon moments earlier.

Slim hips, sensually enchanted by the line of nicely bolded hip bones, framed what he had a reason to believe was the most perfect endowment he had ever seen. He was sure his own wasn't as big and thick and not to mention the way it practically stood up against his lower stomach, dripping! But Iyou, seemingly unaware of his devouring gaze, simply reached for the cream put meaningfully on the bedside table and moved to straddle Koushiro's hips.

Feeling pinned down with much less layers of clothes between them, Koushio's doubts emerged again. What if Iyou had been told wrong? What if it only worked for the sadomasochistic population of the gay society? What if he would bleed or if something inside him snapped? He squirmed, shivering a bit. And what about his doctor? He couldn't picture the humiliation by having to explain it...

"Izzy... I'm ready. C'mon,"

He opened his eyes, bewildered. He hadn't even acknowledged shutting them. Iyou was still kneeling above him, erection stiff and dripping just at Koushiro's eye level. His hands were covered with cream, ready to get busy. How to say it? How to mouth his fear? Just as he thought he had mastered to find the right words to tell Iyou the deal was off, he noticed a white strain between the boy's legs. Iyou had prepped _himself_.

"get your boxers out of the way, please."

He gazed upon the boy, into those ebony eyes filled with devotion, as he did what he was told. He saw them devour inch by inch of his newly exposed flesh, they even widened a bit as his member sprang free from his concealing boxer shorts, fully upraised with another huge drop gathering at the tip as the other ones were whipped away by the boxers. He decided he liked the look in those eyes clouded with need and the way the older boy's shaft seemed to pulse at the sight. And then, as if in slow motion, Iyou's hands lowered to touch him, to touch that most sensible part of him that no one but himself had ever. Slick fingers enclosed around his cock, only reminding him how painfully aroused he actually was. A moan he never thought his lungs could master echoed trough the room as his head fell soundly back once more. The fingers stroked him, built him, worked in their maddening pace all the way up lightly, then roughly pumped back down again and again, creaming it up. Lips claimed his exposed neck greedily, biting and sucking lovingly and soon enough he was fiercely thrusting up in the ravishing hand for more. Climax had almost gripped him in it's paws, nearly making him totally forget everything else as the hand and lips were suddenly gone. He snapped his eyes fiercely open, blood racing hot within his veins, only to find Iyou pulling his aching shaft up from behind him, balancing his weight back on the other arm, giving Koushiro a clear view to look just where his hardness was being positioned.

And he begun to lower himself down.

Impossible tightness gripped his tip. Koushiro thought he had heard Iyou repress a moan, but the feeling that shot trough him was too intense to let him focus on anything else. Just as he thought it couldn't get any better, Iyou was lowering himself further and he watched his erection plunge deeper and deeper into him. Indescribable were the sensations bolting trough him, impossible heat rushed to grip him, simulate him, pump him and groaning he barely acknowledged his hands clutching the boy's waist, fingers digging into spread buttocks, still devouring his shaft, inexorably. With a wild cry he spasmed within that impossible heat, within the other boy just as he had managed to fill him to the hilt. Strong sprouts shot forth, damping back down on his climaxing cock deep inside Iyou.

Panting frantically, Koushiro slowly came to. His eyelids heavy like lead barriers as he was flooded by that heavenly sweetness lifted to gaze upon the one who had made him feel that way, lovingly numb. And then it hit him.

He had came too fast! Iyou was still fully impaled on his rapidly qeasing cock, chest heaving frenetically and erection throbbing, pulsing. His hazel eyes rushed to seek the older boy's, but they were closed, eyebrows furred in a frown of concentration. All Koushiro could do was watch, helpless. Would Iyou be mad at him? All that preparation and pain blown to dust! Damn, he though he had a better endurance... He could feel his own seed sliding in moist steams down under his cock and along his balls. Blushing to mach his hair he was desperately filled with guilt. He had ruined it all...!

Iyou then leaned forward, hand gripping his own straining need, pumping frenetically. And Koushiro watched, helpless. He should have been the one to make it right! It was he who was supposed to keep cool in order to control them both... But there was nothing to be done about it now. So he just watched as less than two feet away from his face Iyou's skilled hand worked its magic, just like it had on him. Soft moans filled his ears, swiftly building up in volume along with the small frenzied fapping sounds of erected flesh clashing within the firm grip. Koushiro's eyes watched the silky blue locks dance around that beautiful features twisted in a slight frown of agony... Then those ebony eyes cracked open, looking down on him as the boy pumped himself with such trust and affection that it made Koushiro feel unworthy. 

"Ah...!" A hot sprout splashed upon his chest and the tall boy leaned down over him, loosing his balance. Koushiro instinctively tried to catch him, but the landing was nonetheless quite abrupt. And he was still inside him. Getting the hold of his buttocks to ease his spent shaft out he felt his fingers brush upon crrasped skin. Bruises?! Even better... He swallowed hard. Could it get even worse?

Iyou lifted up on his elbows then, and without a word he lowered his mouth to claim Koushiro's shocked one, half missing it as the sweetness in his system numbed his motoric movements. He kissed him with all of his heart, pouring every inch of his being into it. But the redhead was having problems responding.

So Iyou drew back, blue locks ruffly framing his face, and his lips twisted in a small reassuring smile as their eyes met, loving ebony and reluctant hazel ones. It was clear from a mile away, even without his gasses, what was the redhead troubled with. Sure he wasn't expecting Koushiro to climax so soon, without a warning. But the again it was their first time, so things like that were to be expected. But the feeling... As Koushiro came deep within him... Iyou couldn't even begin to describe it...

"I hope you felt that, the connection..." He whispered, bringing their foreheads together. They had been one. For a short moment, yes, but it happened. And he had managed to lube them both quite right too. All in all Iyou felt pretty satisfied.

/ _And you can do the same_ /

"Yes..." Koushiro finally seemed to relax, still he bit his lip, "but it should have lasted longer. _I_ should have lasted longer..."

Smiling, Iyou planted a soft kiss on the tortured lip. Ah yes, the little perfectionistic demon inside the little computer nerd back from the Digiworld times. The very same that he fell in love with so long ago. The one whom he had bought a little chestnut-red kitty for St. Valentine along with the traditional chocolate, but couldn't gain the courage to give for over a week later, discarding the chocolate – still he though it was more obvious than he could handle. But Koushiro seemed nicely surprised at the small kitten and had developed the custom to carry it along with him everywhere he went.

That kitten now dangled from the knob of the room's door, watching the two of them entangled together. The promise of love it carried had finally seen the light of a new day. X

* * *

[07] - ... I think I'm getting the hang of it. No, really. This part practically wrote itself!

off to chapter n°7

mail to Kitsu


	8. Collidings

****

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud -** Collidings**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_January 2002

* * *

"Where's Takeru?"

Mimi shook slightly at the sound of Tai's voice and her eyes snapped to the boy who was currently busy balancing three nice smelling plates at the same time. He managed to deposit them on the table quite skillfully, proof that he wasn't doing it for the first time. Still he could have do it more gently, Mimi noted. She watched him pull out a chair opposite her and drop down on it, resting his hands on the table. Then his eyes, his heavy-glaring autumn eyes, fell upon her questioningly.

"He's... Well he had to go in a hurry," she half mumbled the answer, eyes dropping on the table beside her now empty cup. Takeru was a heartless bastard! Too bad not even she believed her own thoughts anymore. In that swift hug as the younger blonde put his arms around her, she felt hit by a blasting wave of sadness and despair, of resignation and spleen, all at the same time. It crept inside her heart, icily cold like a deadly venom, jet burning as the strongest of acids. Time stood still, and her fear rose to grip her throat like a deadly vise. They were the same. Both were hurt badly and were desperately trying to pull their head out the gutter. All they had ever tried to do always proved to be helpless. She herself was still dragging her life along in what was left of the now hollow belief that all sometime somehow works out, but Takeru was dying, psychically as well as spiritually. Takeru, little blondie-tressed TK-chan, was fading away. From the others, from her and... And from himself.

"Sorry..." she muttered, never noticing the tear that splashed in the cup beyond her, melting with the dark strains of what was naught more than a memory of the far since dried down drink. Indeed, little TK was the one who she was supposed to love, to guide, to stand beside to, to keep from doing her same mistakes... Then why did she settled for hating him? Because he hurt Hikari? Because he was being honest? Honest as she swore herself she would be?

A light thump forced her to concentrate on what was going on outside her head. Her cup was being pushed away by a big white heavenly-smelling plate. Startled she dragged her willowy eyes up upon the boy opposite her, upon his autumn depths, expectedly.

"We all have our own reasons to chew ourselves out with regret," Taichi forced himself to twitch a smile. It was a bad morning. One of those he wished he could simply curl up in the corner of his room and sleep the whole day long. Or at least that was what he would normally wish to do. But as the days passed by, peaceful sleep and sweet dreams were seemingly nowhere to be found. So with a bad day gleaming at the horizon, the best way to survive it was get up and face it, as simple as that. The only problem remained that practically _every_ day started out in this precise bad way. What way? It was quite indefinable as well as unnerving waking up every morning as if from a nightmare that he know he should be able to remember – but couldn't.

"Do you know Takeru's gay?" shot from the girl's direction, impassively, and Taichi froze. What was to be said now? Woud it save his ass to bottle it up? Would it hurt anybody by admitting he knew? His eyes were locked with Mimi's, unbearably. Only now he realized he wasn't actually given a choice, for she was already reading the answer within his eyes, within his heart. Nonetheless he nodded slightly, now saving his own face despite the carelessness he was suddenly flooded with.

"Do you know I'm gay?"

Somehow it seemed logical to hear that sentence from her mouth. And he found himself saying...

"I could ask you the same thing."

/ _What have you done today to make you feel proud? _/

Wordless, their conversation became. They were far beyond words, far beyond shock of realization and just as far beyond any other feelings. All that was left inside their hearts was pure understanding, a final settlement of riddleous puzzle. The girl's willow eyes were calm and steady upon his, just like Tai knew his own were against hers. Time seemed freezed up less for the quiet tickling of the swing-clock on the wall, the steady rhythm melting to guide their heartbeats ever so softly.

They were never close friends, they never actually paused to ask what the other thought or believed in, they were strangers. Or rather _had been_. An abrupt link seemed forming between them then, a familiar flow of otherwise believed to be inadequate questions mirrored in each other's eyes, mixing with answers all the while. Once again, Taichi felt the group was gathering under the same darkened sky. Slowly, one by one, they were coming back to him, seeking his leadership. He was scared of how much a soothing feeling it actually turned out to be.

It was wrong. They had no reason to come together again, no reason for him to lead them again. There was no one to fight now, save themselves of course. So why was it what he felt he was supposed to do?

"Taichi..."

His head flew in a rush towards the source of the voice and he bolted on his feet. In the doorframe his sister was standing in her pale pink pajama, shattered and still like the shadow that was clawing her heart. Her cheeks were far beyond damp with the steams of inexorably flowing tears. Fear slashed trough him. Had she heard them? Was all they had broken now?

"It's begun," she said calmly, but he hadn't failed to notice the way she was trembling. He took a tentative step towards her, frowning.

"What has?"

She let him reach her in his hesitant pace, all the while looking at the shocked-looking pink-haired girl that seemed unable to trust her knees. Mimi understood, she was able to read clearly in those swollen oak-brown eyes the dark secret that lay heavily upon the tortured soul...

"What has begun, Kari?" Taichi put his hands to rest on his sibling's small shoulders, forcing her to drag her gaze straight up into his own.

The darkness within devoured him. "We're loosing."

Behind them, Mimi soundly broke down in tears, heavy pink locks pooling onto the table as her forehead fell upon it. [08]

~o@o~

Takeru froze in his steps. There was no way he was seeing what his eyes assured him he was. Incredulous, he watched across the playground beyond the apartment complex he lived in at the familiar silhouette sitting lazily on the big stony steps that lead to the building's entrance. A familiar pair of twin coal-brown gems spackling back at him, the one and only he thought he could no longer admire nor dream to look upon him in anything else than hatred. Was it hatred indeed what sparkled in them? He couldn't tell from afar. Perhaps he was just getting the deserved ass-kicking out of this. Surrounded by the tale-like oak-framed playground he felt floating somewhere in between his memories and dreams, or a soft melody of both that slowly made his feet move, one step at a time, towards what he thought was the most crucial moment of his life.

It was there, on that very same playground, that he and Daisuke met what seemed a lifetime ago. Little did he knew that the boy who asked him to team-play a soccer game against two random older boys would grow to become his everything. At first a great co-player, then best friend, competitor, his fearless leader and, lastly, his dream of love. Things could really mess up in all the unexpected places and most of the ones left in between. Most times Takeru felt lifeless like an empty shell. What was the use of carrying the most precious of pearls when it couldn't be praised? When it couldn't be bought? Especially after you've spent your whole life breeding it in silent pain, loosing your soul, one piece at a time?

He sealed a promise inside his heart then. He would never write again.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the playground, eyes dropping on the muddy ground. He knew he deserved every single one of the curses and kicks that Daisuke could master just as well as he knew he wasn't ready to face him. He stepped off of the main path trough the playground, boots splashing in the wet dust as he walked for the swings. A silent screech greeted his weight and his hands limply clutched at the chains. Perhaps it was a dream. Daisuke wasn't sitting there. Daisuke knew nothing of his novels, knew nothing of his feelings, they had never kissed. He and his mother had never been on that Christmas dinner, Yamato wasn't gay and their father wasn't either. All was perfect, every single thing was alright... He was still five and his soccer ball was still so big and round and glowing in the spring's first warm sunrays.

A silent thudding of nearing footsteps.

No, Daisuke wasn't coming upto him and, no, that wasn't his shade that drew in the dust beyond the swing on which he was lulling limply back and forth.

"Takeru..." said the voice that he swore himself he wasn't hearing. He shut his eyes firmly and gripped harder at the swing's chains. Who was he hiding from if there was no one there?

"TK..." the voice struck into him again. The voice that didn't exist...! A single tear stuck down his cheek. No. All was well. There was no problem, no problem at all...

Pressure was added to the swing and he precociously tried to plant his feet flat on the ground, steadying himself before he could loose balance, blue eyes fluttering open instinctively. His eyes were given a clear view on the oldest of the oaks in the middle of the park. his back connecting with what seemed to be a pair of football-built legs. He gazed up in surprise, meeting those unreadably sparkling coal eyes again, from a much shorter distance this time. Daisuke was standing on the swing behind him, slowly rocking them both back and forth.

"Now that you're listening, I think the least you could do is thank me," the brunette grinned down at him, lips parting to show two lines of fine white teeth. Takeru kept gazing up, speechless, uncomprehending. Of course he had a dozen of reasons to thank Daisuke like for forgiving him for the novels, for being there, for accepting him...

/ _It's never too late to try_ /

"... y- you have no idea of how grateful I am..." he crisped quietly, feeling terribly nervous and totally unsure, but surprisingly better.

"'s alright," Daisuke lifted his eyes to gaze at the old oak. It was there where he fist saw Takeru with his big new soccer ball. He remembered how much he wanted to play with both at the same time, quickly provoking two of the older boys nearby... "Only next time, TK," he muttered smiling to the blonde sitting beyond him, "tell me when you need an alibi to stay out late."

He could practically sense the blue eyes widening and the yaw dropping. Infact it was how his sister had remained when he told her last night how he had saved Takeru's guts. As he phoned home, Mrs. Takaishi was already there and in her dragon-mood too. So instead of asking her to pass on the phone the son that he figured wasn't there, he settled for making a quick excuse of a late-stretched study that would beneficially result in a sleep over. His fear that she would want to talk with her son resulted to be worthless, for once Takeru's mother knew he was safe and fed, her over-worked brain moved to the next thing to be done – sleeping. Mumbling an affirmation and a g'night she hung on on him. Quite an adrenaline kicking experience indeed. Who said soccer wasn't a source of diplomatic get-away-withs? Especially the way the frequent morning jogs helped you get up early when you needed to wait for someone to warn him not to screw things up...

~

"Morning sweetie, by the way you look terrible," Natsuko Takaishi smooched her younger son on the forehead after throwing him a quick scan-over. She let him in and only then noticed another form that was standing on her front porch. Daisuke.

She tied tighter around herself her nigh-coat and smiled a little surprised smile at the boy. "Gee, you two are getting inseparable lately, no offence."

"None taken, it's true after all," Daisuke stretched lazily once the door was closed behind him. Being too busy throwing Takeru a reassuring gaze he missed the way the woman's weary eyes looked upon him. Was her little Takeru hiding something? No, of course not, he would never do such a thing, he would never be like... like that. But men proved to be irresponsible and twisted and her little Take-chan was, as much as a devastating thought it may had sound, becoming one. Not only his body structure was screaming with it and his voice was gaining depth, his attitude was changing remarkably. His childish demeanor, dreamy passion for chocolate ice cream, his sudden flashing smiles... Where did it all go all of a sudden?

"Have you boys eaten yet of would you like me to make some breakfast for us all?" she grinned politely, cursing herself. Such thoughts only brought disasters along. And besides, every moment spent with her son now was to be stored in the vast space within her heart only to be remembered as a small sign of parental love and success, one of the few.

Takeru watched her nod triumphantly as she was given their affirmation, already walking to the kitchen. So many people knew his secret that he had no idea if he could or could not trust. Wouldn't it all be better if she would hear it from him directly? A hand was placed on his elbow catapulting him back to the real world. His head flew till his eyes dipped in sea of coal brown.

"Let's get the talking done and over with, c'mon."

The few steps that leaded to the blonde's room were the longest and the slowest Takeru ever remembered having done. Infact, Daisuke's hand on his elbow now actually found it's purpose, leading him on. Settling limply on his bed he glared expectantly at his... well, his friend, as he stood beyond him, at least to how he appeared to Takeru, naturally.

But in truth, Dai felt REALLY tense. A word spoken wrong could make things crack apart when they weren't even fully bind together again. He inhaled deeply looking down at the lost soul that was once, and perhaps could become once again, his best friend. He could do this. He had rehearsed with Jun the whole evening, hadn't he? Even if he bloody knew he was a natural disaster when it came to deep talk, he knew he had to do it. After all, if he had chosen to back away from Takeru, then why bother saving his ass when he knew the blonde was locative enough to come up with an acceptable excuse of his own?

"Uh, look..." he begun but stopped just as soon, hands dancing in the air beyond him, gesturing something totally abstract in a desperate try to make Takeru understand. However, it seemed having the opposite effect for the blonde furred his eyebrows in confusion. "Well..." he tried again. Why the hell was his mind empty? He was supposed to be dropping all those highly intelligent phrases Jun made him learn, in the exact order to build a stabile effect. So where were they?! Glaring at Takeru desperately for a few minutes longer he decided to give up. With a sigh, he slumped next to the other boy and gazed up at him, defeated.

"To put it short, I don't fell the same way but I still wanna be friends," he spat in one breath the whole sum up of the good thirty sentences he kept going over at home but couldn't remember. The frown on Takeru's face disappeared, only to be replaced by a stone-cold mask.

"Sure. Whatever _you_ want, Davis."

He would have winced then, if the ice in Takeru's voice hadn't have freezed him numb. It was a tone he never before heard escape the blonde's lips. So vile and sleek, so filled with sarcasm that the angelic face had a great amount of trouble reflecting. Takeru _wanted_ him, Takeru _needed_ him... and he wasn't willing to hear his plea. What was one supposed to do when put in such a situation? Give up? Play he hadn't noticed?

The phone rang and Takeru, feeling a strong urge to get away and smack himself for letting something like that out, bolted to answer it. Just as he picked it up his mother emerged from the kitchen with same purpose, wiping her hands in a cloth.

"Takaishi apartment." he sang in the phone routinely.

The voice that greeted him was deep and sensual and so very unique that there was no way he couldn't recognize it. Unfortunately the surprise made him yelp the name out loud.

"Yamato!" His brother _never_ called him. If his mother would answer, he would get a hung on in the face. Infact, Takeru could practically feel the way her eyes darkened behind him. What he didn't feel was the hand that wrenched the phone out of his grasped and slammed it off in a burst of pure rage. He glared, shocked, at his mother. Could she really hate her own son so much? Was it truly possible? He couldn't sort out a reason good enough to justify it, wasn't maternal love supposed to surpass everything?

/ _What have you done today to make you feel proud?_ /

Slowly, but firmly, he lifted the phone again, holding her raged glare perfectly. Even if she had a reason strong enough to hate his brother and father, there was no law saying he had to also. So he boldly typed out Yamato's cell-phone number never even throwing a glance a the numbers pad. Ignoring the look on his mother's face, he concentrated on the voice that cracked alive from the other side.

"Sorry, line problems," he lied, "So, what's up?"

What he heard made him totally forget his mother's outrage and Daisuke's egoism and everything else that was rummaging trough his head at that time, even his dark mood. His hand stole to limply cover his mouth in shock.

"Sure. Be right there," he managed to mumble, dropping the phone afterwards. He knew his mother was shooting him a glare, but right then that was of no importance. He swiftly ran to his bedroom's door, gasping in a rush.

"There's been an accident. We have to go to the Central hospital immediately...!" X 

* * *

[08] - Well as much of a PWP it seems so far, you'll bloody see in the future. I spent **72 hours** on library work and brainstorming for the plot x_x It was fun, though.

off to chapter n°8

mail to Kitsu


	9. Fallen Dominos

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud –** Fallen Dominos**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_February 2003

* * *

"They were never given a chance."

Tai fell silent abruptly. He decided to save the notice of all the anatomic injuries to himself. What was it again? Crushed scalp, spine broken one in three and other in five parts, twisted neck, heart stabbed by broken ribs, practically dusted down pelvis, fatal internal bleedings, almost torn off leg... and he stopped counting, the breakfast he nonetheless Mimi's rush insisted on eating was beginning to force its way up his throat. Mimi was almost mirroring his expression, probably feeling just as sick or even worse although she tried to act strong, hugging Kari bravely. Surprisingly the younger brunette was far calmer than he expected, infact seemingly it was Mimi who was clutching on to her in order to remain calm. However, calmness was not something Sora bothered to be proud of at that point.

"Everybody's given a chance! They have to be!" she practically screamed back at him, tears steaming down her burning cheeks. She stood beyond him with her hands clenched in fists and eyes blazing, in the middle of the hospital's waiting room. But now they've lost their purpose of being there for the ones they were waiting for were no more.

"You saw it with your own eyes..." Taichi shrugged helplessly, avoiding her insulting gaze. Again he felt floating away. Above him, dark clouds shielded the warm but cruelly real sunrays and that terrifyingly comforting cold darkness embraced him softly. Like a rain of heaven's tears it soaked him to skin and even deep beneath, awakening the small far since forgotten enthusiasm and lack of adventure, his deep buried courage. He felt eleven again, ready to lead his friends, but trough what? Where to?

"It's not fair..." Sora's last attempt to at least hold back the worst wave of tears snapped. She hid her face in her hands desperately trying to remind herself she was in a public place. But with her eyes closed, all she kept seeing was the pool of blood on the road, flashes of a bleeding, unnaturally flat oak-haired head, of long silky indigo locks glistering crimson wet in the sun as they rested heavily upon their owner's back, spine bowed at an impossible angle. "... no..." she felt her knees giving up underneath her. Why did it happen? Why _them_? Why was _she_ there to see it?

Firm arms drew around her waist supporting her not to fall, arms she grew to rely on, arms she knew well. Clutching at their owner's shirt she hid her face blindly in the hollow of his neck. In the hollow of _her_ neck. Jun hugged her close, nuzzling in her chestnut locks and begun to softly whisper... "It's OK, Sora-chan, cry all you want..."

And she did. Her broken heart kept bleeding painfully. Her whole being was on fire, burning from the inside. Once, a long way back, she relied with all her being in the fire. She gave it life, observed it grow inside her and then take off to the sky, like the phoenix that it proved to be. Those were the flames of creation, the flames of love. And slowly, but boldly, she felt those flames emerge again, mending her whole being. Her friends needed them, they craved, called for them. Her sobs slowly calmed down, the strong spring within her untapping with flourish; she was called and... would not back away.

Mimi listened quietly as Sora cried. She felt part of her had actually died, never to come back, and trembling, she tightened her grip around Hikari's shoulders. What happened totally and absolutely terrified her out of her skin and she desperately tried to calm down. Somehow it wasn't about the accident alone, the clawing feeling seemed to bold out something way deeper, way older. Something that could still be sensed floating timelessly in the air above them all. Something that wasn't over, but that had actually just begun. Sensing it she felt awakening, as if from a dream, as if a gate to her soul, in which she had locked her true sincere self from the world, banged open, welcoming a wordless and soundless plea.

Koushiro seemed focused on his reflection on the floor, but in truth he never even acknowledged the tiles he was standing on were polished enough to provide one. He was rowing too deep in his thoughts to be able to. What happened one would normally label as horrible, wouldn't he? So why all he felt was... Emptiness? Helplessness? No, not exactly. It was more like the bitterness that usually flooded him after experiencing something he knew was meant to happen, unavoidably. The more he tried to sort things out the more he became aware he was running in circles, always tripping over the same fallen domino brick in the line of events. What pushed it to fall? What did it made trip? He was sure there was more to it and, even if scared a bit, he was equally sure he wanted to know more.

On the wall near the distracted redhead, Iyou was leant stiffly. His butt was a bit sore from the early encounter he shared with him, but that had no credit for his lack of comfort. The devastating news had momentarily blasted out of him the whole cheeriness of the event, anchoring him harshly to the real world. What were they to do now? Watching Sora cry in Jun's arms, he felt his every fiber scream with anxiosity. Things were not about to settle like that! He wasn't sure what was he actually feeling, nor why did it feel right, but he felt ready to do it. For the group, for himself – they could all rely on him.

Night sky eyes danced trough the small room, quiet, save for Sora's eventual sharp intakes of breath. Amusingly, the radiating grief that seemed ready to swallow every living being in it was suddenly winded away, Yamato could tell, for even from his observing spot in the corner, he was able to acknowledge the fresh scent of newborn determination. It radiated from each of the one-time digidestinied, true, but Taichi particularly strong. The more the blonde concentrated on that curious flow, the more he felt drawn to the brunette, to them all. It was as if the needle of destiny tightened the stitches of friendship they've been sewed together with. Curious. All that took for them to become a tight group again was death...

A crescendo of thudding footsteps echoed from the hall and a flash of golden blonde locks later, Yamato had an armful of his younger brother. A brother who relied on him to hide the scalding tears that were brushing down his paled cheeks away from the world and hold him close. Complying immediately, he drew Takeru in a strong embrace, wordlessly. His small brother was obviously much more affected by the event than he himself was. But was his nonchalance real? Deep down inside he knew his heart was just as big and frail as Takeru's. It was why he had built the barbed wire fence around his own, letting no one near. Whoever tried to touch it got hurt or even blown out of his life. But then again there were people that he allowed to come near, people he loved and respected, people like Takeru and... And Taichi. It was strange, even to him, the way he liked to veil himself with countless flings and swings, how it was easier if he simply forgot about them and the rest of the world, successfully detaching himself from all that was familiar. But embracing Takeru in that moment suddenly disintegrated all of those forced detachments, connecting all the lost links, and as his misted eyes lifted to gaze upon the panting form of Daisuke, of Taichi, Sora, Koushiro, Iyou, Mimi and Hikari, he remembered the valor of being the bearer of friendship.

/ _You could be so many people_ /

Daisuke was desperately trying to catch his breath. He had no idea Takeru could run so fast, it had been months since he left football! However, trough the whole trip, he never got a chance to ask the small blonde what the hell actually happened. He felt somewhat lost, watching all the long faces that suddenly turned his way.

"What happened?"

After a while of tangible tension, Iyou bit his lip, lowering his eyes "They're dead."

Confused, Daisuke watched Sora hide her face sorrowfully in Jun's neck. He felt a lump big as a fist forming in the pit of his stomach. "Who is?"

Hikari's eyes, dispassionately dark and expressionlessly calm, met his own across the room and even before she mouthed the answer, he felt his knees collapse.

"Miyako and Iori." [09]

~o@o~

"I don't have anything black to wear..."

Dispassionate hazel eyes lost themselves in the endless waltz of the cloudless sky as he paused by his desk, gazing out of his bedroom's window. An empty feeling was washing over Koushiro restlessly like an ecliptic deja-vu. Iori Hida. It sure was a heartblowing loss, painfully so – to him especially. Iori really seemed to be fond of all of his projects as well as of all of his theories. He was nicely polite, highly intelligent, totally reliable... Next to him, Koushiro felt like a sensei helping his student to build a stabile lifepath, like a high intellectually developed person sharing observations with somebody his own IQ level. He always viewed the young kendo fighter, Iyou and himself as a special unit, tied together with stronglined friendship, so strong he practically took it as the most granted social bond of all. He never questioned himself if it bordered on something else, at least not up until the sudden lack of it cracked the ground underneath his feet. Sorting things from a wholly different point of view, the pattern they were forming changed drastically. Just like the one he shared with Iyou, the relationship that tied him to Iori expectably surpassed mere guy-to-guy friendship. But while the one between Iyou and him took a strong shade of love, the bond with the younger boy tinted in more of a sponsor-like hue, almost boarding on parental support. But he thought he never had the attributes to be an efficient parent. He, of all of them...

Lost deep in the riddle of his thoughts Koushiro never noticed his hands tracing across the desk, absently fumbling with his oldest source of answers. It had grown to become a reflex reaching for his laptop when he felt there were questions forming within him, when there were solutions to be found. He kept standing by the desk, gaze locked on the sky above. Perhaps this time his pineapple couldn't help him. Perhaps the answer he was looking for could only be found within him, deep inside his heart? And if so, how could he begin to search for it?

The door softly closed behind him, the little red kitten's button-nose clashing slightly against the knob as the flow of air lulled it in a gentle swing. Hesitant footsteps, muffed by a pair of worn-in slippers, paced slowly across the room only to reach his side, silently stopping. Koushiro's fingers halted their absent typing on the keyboard, for their owner became too busy focusing on the wish that burst to flames inside him, a call for physical touch, for spiritual support. A call for love.

A mug of hot chocolate was placed on the desk and then, in the silence of the room, arms folded around his waist from behind and long blue locks caressed the side of his face as Koushiro let his cheek kiss Iyou's, leaning back in elation.

"You're blaming yourself."

"You were crying," Koushiro stated in answer. His fnigers begun tracing abstract patterns on the gentle hands resting on his waist. Now that things had been cleared out between them, there was no need for a thorough debate to know how the other felt. Looking in the stainless blue of the sky both of them knew the other was just as saddened as he himself was, despite the different shade of it.

"The more I think about it, the more I'm sure he was searching for a father," Iyou nearly whispered as he kissed softly his love's temple, keeping his lips in the spot to sense the heartbeat. As far as they knew, Iori lived with his ever-working mother and kendo-teaching grandfather... and no one else. Jet the understanding boy that he had been, he watched not to give them a hard time about asking over the lost parent, but rather silently struggled on by himself. It was a rare thing for the detached kendo champion to open up or even get close to anyone, so it was that much of a wonder he claimed to feel close to Koushiro and Iyou. Over the years they had hung around together day after day, month after month, the two older boys taking care of him and each other as if trying to build a stabile environment for their younger friend, as if creating a new loving circle, a second family.

"He found him in us both."

The sense of loss felt so much more painful as Koushiro realized it, allmost unbearably so as he mouthed the thought. He had sensed the closed up little boy needed much more support and care than his environment could offer him. Subconsciously his heart cradled him deep inside it, instinctively giving him all it thought a child should not be denied of. In a way, Koushiro was already behaving like a real independent parent without even taking notice. But realizing it brought another truth floating on the surface of his mind. Without Iyou by his side, he was sure things would never work out as well as they did.

It was what Iyou believed for him too.

They stood like that, silently trying to ease their grief within each other's arms, letting slowly out of them the heavy sadness, one breath at a time. __

'You're blaming yourself.'

'You were crying.'

Koushiro stiffened, shocked. Iyou's arms, Iyou's scent, the color of the sky... He was sure this wasn't the first he lived that moment. __

'Don't cry, Lanalaa said we shall meet again.'

Like a lightning bolt the feeling of remembrance slashed trough him, painfully like a killer blade, jet clearly as a ray of holly light. Mind-blowing agony mixed with the darkest shade of despair, lurching up from his stomach and burningly clawed his throat. He felt a strong urge to scream, to let it out, let it blast out of him and into the endless sky. __

'Fools! Who are you to determine who shall live and who shall die?!'

"'shiro?" 

He clutched at Iyou's arms as if they were his last grasp of sanity. Where were the voices coming form? Why did they sound familiar? Why did this breathless grief feel familiar? __

'You claim to be all-knowing, you claim to be all-mighty – so ANSWER ME!!'

"Koushiro, what's wrong?!" Iyou was starting to panic. The redhead was breathing harshly, holding his wrists in a death grip. Was it Iori's loss that was cracking the solid wall that Koushiro built around his feelings and sensations? Years over years of cold routine efficiency must have filed aside quite an impressive amount of them. Human beings couldn't live perfectly, but robots never possessed feelings of their own. The redhead thought he had a choice. Crossing out happiness, one could cross out hurt and sadness too. But being denied perfection, one cannot become a perfect robot...

He held Koushiro firmly in his embrace, expecting a blasting frenzy, a tsunami worth sixteen years of pent up feelings, a bloodstained soul howling with hurt.

But Koushiro only panted soundly, standing perfectly still save for his heaving chest.

/ _If you make that break for freedom_ /

A short beeping sound snapped both of the boys attention to their surroundings. A brief moment afterwards Koushiro somewhat regained his cold composure and gently disentangling from Iyou's uncertain embrace sitting down at his desk. The message on the screen of his pineapple announced him he got e-mail. From Digiworld.

"Iy... Iyou!!" 

~o@o~

"Why did you say that?"

Kari smiled slightly letting the breeze play with her silky oak locks that kept glittering golden in the afternoon sun. Questions, there were always so many questions. Was this what life was about? Forming questions and then struggling timelessly, unstoppably, to dig out answers? Over and over again? Then again, there were the ones she never asked for, the ones that, softly like delicate butterflies, settled on her palm and spread their little colorful wings for her to read the message written in the countless patterns that only she could understand. Night by night they came to see her, delivering small little promises of darkness, promises of death.

She stopped in her footsteps, her eyes gliding back over the enormous shape of the hospital. Even from here, from the central park in Odaiba, the apex of the white complex could be recognized, for no other building emaciated such sterile strictness with it's big colorless windows, not even the cobalt hue of the sky could reflect in them. She wondered if architects designed it like that on purpose, wanted to make it look like the soulless prison that it was, the last one it's occupators would have the fortune to see. A prison indeed. Only the hospital had this power over the human kind. It helped them come to life, it helped them grow, helped them breed, give birth and die. Without even knowing it, every single person was already born addicted to it, when the only thing they should bring along into the world with was primal sin.

Was it worth struggling to be the best when you know you're just a file number in an endless archive? When you were never given a choice to live freely? What was the point of storing your first salary remains for your funeral? Of course, that and more for the society protection, the one that kept nature from blasting her rage over them to finally rid herself from the dominative race. But until when? No matter the efforts, the money gathered, the protection guaranteed – they all remained slaves of their own destiny.

Mimi stood a few feet behind Hikari, her eyes gliding worriedly over the calm features, the distant hazel-nut eyes, the slightly waving oak brown locks. It made absolutely no sense. Right before refusing her brother's offer to drive her home with him, Kari waved to them all and took off to the park. But just after a few paces she turned around swiftly, as if forgetting something, and poised her eyes on the still shaken-looking Disuke.

"Keep away from the dark or you may not see light ever again."

It seemed like a perfect threat to keep away from Takeru. Or at least it would, if it wasn't Kari mouthing it. But even if so – at a time like that? No, Mimi was almost sure there was more to it, if not other, her heart – no – that newly untapped empathy was spelling it out loud deep inside her soul. Something way older, deeper and just as intangible floated within the younger brunette. Hikari slowly, as if in slow motion, turned her eyes to face her, eyes that beheld decades and hundreds and thousands of years of numbed hurt and forcefully accumulated wisdom, a soul perhaps older than time and worn out with effort desperately forcing one last attempt. The smooth, still nearly childish face was calm and still, like a porcelain doll's. And delicate lips moved.

"I love you," a whisper touched her ears. "I'll always love you."

A slap still echoed over the grass field as Mimi dropped her throbbing hand back down at her side. Now she understood. All she kept searching, all she kept looking for was another Alicia. It was only now that the realization sunk in – she wasn't ready to protect her love, jet again. Mimi knew she must have been trembling and a suspicious diamond glitter was beginning to gather in her eyes.

"That... That was a spelled death sentence. And you know it."

Hikari's eyes were still poised on the ground in the same position where from when her head had flew in the blow. Her features remained unchanged, not even a cringe of pain strained her porcelain-like expression as her fingers absently traced along the burning surface of her cheek. "Birth alone is a death sentence," she stated calmly.

Kari was right. No matter what one does or how hard he tries to push it in his subconscious, death never missed it's target. Again, dark hazel eyes lifted upon her own, the same cast of brown that was shown to Daisuke.

"You can't deny my feelings."

/ _What have you done today to make you feel proud?_ /

And not only that, Mimi knew she couldn't deny her own feelings either at that point. Without really taking notice, she found herself planting a hesitant kiss on the brunette's soft lips. After all, wasn't the closest human beings could get to perfection experiencing something that was meant to happen?

And nothing, not a single thing she could think of, felt closer to perfection than love. **X**

* * *

[09] - ... OMG, was this part draining or what? I better get to bed before my head crashes on the keyboa... rd... *thud!* hjdfsjfvbguweoqu8rz7r5t9pqwwiudyghtz

off to chapter n°9

mail to Kitsu


	10. Last Course

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

* * *

Digimon fanfic: **Proud –** Last Course**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_March 2003

Author's notes: I feel kind of wired today. It's 15th March, 23:34 PM. I turned eighteen about two hours and 15 minutes ago, it's the moment I've been waiting for for all of my life, yet... I feel empty. Like if I've done nothing truly meaningful during my whole childhood. OMG, I'm an adult! _ME_! Godess, save the world... .;;;

* * *

Sighing, Jun let herself lean on the door she had closed behind her, exhausted. It was hard to comfort someone you have no idea what's he going trough, someone who's world was a shade of the real one, expecially when all she kept looking at for all those long years was the sun. What kind of a responsibility carried the 'digidestinied'? What kind of bond tied them to that strange world? Will it ever brake? Will they ever be able to live normally? Sure, she wanted to understand, to help her brother, her love, and the others too, but she had no clue how. Her nerves strained with worry. By what Yagami Hikari had said, it seemed to Jun that Daisuke was in danger...

"Jun..."

A broken voice cracked from across the hall. Draging her eyes up she saw a pair of maple-colored eyes, washed out with tears and sore from crying, looking back at her ever so fearfully. A bleeding, but slowly self regenerating soul was reflecting from their depths. As if beeing nothing other but a shadow of the surrounding firniture, Sora was leant, at first glance lifeless like statue, against the wall across the darkening hall.

"Is Daisuke allright?" she inquired quietly, eyes never leaving Jun's as if fearing one single blink would be enough to find herself alone. She had felt so lost and alone once, a long time back. Earth was cracking underneath her feet, earth strained with blood...

Jun nodded smiling tiredly back at her and pushed herself off of her brother's room door. "He fell asleep." Her hand stole up to make her fingers glide trough the messed up burgundy locks as step after step, swing after swing of hips, took her closer to the stone-still silhouette leant against the wall. It seemed to Jun the trip was taking forever. She found herself musing how much Sora changed in this one, only, day. Orange hues lined up her chestnut haired girlfriend's beautiful features warmly, drawing shades among that soft face that made her look so much more old, older than time. She had no idea of how to file the remarks the whole matter evoked inside her. It seemed as if she was meeting this girl anew, as if she was about to walk upto her and hand her a tissue, just like that one crucial time backstage... 

"Here."

Maple-brown, red rimmed eyes whirled around to meet her own. The music banged loud in their ears, the proud beat building up to work the crowd. Then a silky voice, sleek, deep, sensual as no other could ever be, spread gently enchanting every man, woman, boy, girl, animal and plant it touched, every single being seemed to be touching heaven thanks to the breath-taking blonde teen spilling heart-touching lyrics up above them, on the enlightened heaven of a stage.

And fresh tears filled those mapple eyes, tears of painfully restrained love, impossibly chained with the heaviest of despairs. "T- thanks, Jun," and the tear-strained face hid in the white piece of soft paper.

"No prob," shrugged the burgundy-haired girl, sliding her hands in the butt-pockets of her jeans, her eyes lost on the stage, dimly gliding over the singing form of an angel-like boy lost in his song of love. Of love that lost it's meaning in the beckstage once the concert was over. The one and only that he kept blowing out of his way because to him it seemed hollow as a livving lie. The same he himself strained to search for, claimed having found it in the embrace of another man. "Just whish you'd feel better already."

She could actually feel the pressure of those tear-swollen eyes against her face, but she had no intention to flinch away. At least not before having said all she planned to. "There's no point in searching for an angel here on earth. Perfect beings like that would never mess around with such scum as ourselves."

The song echoed in the night, reflecting in the crowd's hearts, floating on emotions' wings to take of for the sky like coutless unseen fireflies dissolving into stars in the space's embrace. But Sora, for the first time, didn't heat it. She glared up in Jun's calm face, upon those peaceful fetures and clear oak brown eyes reflecting the glitter of the stage. They were supposed to be arch enemies, they loved the same boy, did they not? Why did they fall for him in the first place...?

A hand outsteched towards her own and Sora flinched, puzzled, glaring at it as if she'd never seen a hand before. "Let's get out of here," Jun was telling her, "There's no point in trying to lit a candle soaked with tears is there?"

Silently lifting her eyes back up to lock with the girls, Sora slowly shook her head. Hesitantly taking the offered hand she let herself be lead out into a new world, a better place that she could only hope would not scar her as the old one did.

/ We need a change, so do it today /

A hand outstretched towards her. This time, Sora took it without hesitation, ducking under its arm till it rested over her shoulders and nuzled close in hollow of Jun's neck. It was alright, this new world, no matter how different and repressed, was all she needed right then, all she thought she'll ever need. As long as Jun was there she felt unbeatably strong and reliably protected. But still... That cold creeping feeling that haunted her subconcious... It seemed resolved not to leave her, not even in Jun's embrace.

"May I sleep here, Jun? I don't really feel like being alone tonight..." she muttered bitterly.

A loving kiss landed on her forehead, telling her, beyond words, what she wanted to be told.

~o@o~

The pain rocked aburptly to a halt. Everything shushed down around her, all the blaring claxons and searing screetching of rubber against the rough grey asphalt of the road, it all stoped as if it never exhisted at all. She couldn't move, her limbs wouldn't obey her. She couldn't breathe, her lungs wouldn't stretch. She couldn't see, her eyes wouldn't open.

Slowly, surounded by an endless blackness, she felt her initial shock dissolve into silence. Her up to then franatically pounding heart lulled it's beating to a soft halt... She was dying – no – dead.

What would happen to her now? Was she supposed to think over her life so far? Or would she simply enjoy the the eternal peace stretching beyond her? Odd...

If only she hadn't had took that turn... She _never_ used the shortcut by the park, never save for this last, fatal time. She could practically tell something bad was going to happen, even the way-pointer switch refused to activate at her first try. As she was waiting at a red light preparing to take the turn her wont hand _slid_ off of it. It confused her slightly, but not too much. She shrugged the cold flow that shot trough her spine and simply grasped it another time, efficently kicking the flashing light on her scooter on. Her gaze slid up to the semafor. It glowed red, crimson red, reminding her of the color of blood. Bemused at her own thoughts, she watched it fade to blackness, as thick as death. Beyond it, from those grieving depths, rose a bright yellow, a rasing sun, a call of hope, and just before fading again in the blank darkness, she could swore a pair of deep blue eyes gazed at her warmly. The green flashed to life, a spring of remembrance, a reviving kiss, but for what it was worth it filled her with sorrow.

The scooter's engine purred with life and the flow of air devoured them in. For the last time. __

"... till the end of time."

She had lied. Time was still flowing by for thousands and millions and milliards of oblivious people, the Earth still spun and the Sun kept tripping over the sky. Life went on as it always had, as it probably always would. Some died, some were born, some cried, some smiled...

"Something's missing, isn't it?"

A cieling formed beyond her. When had she opened her eyes? Were they opened at all? Deciding it didn't really matter she tried to sit up, wincing in advance as she readied herself for the incoming pain.

Nothing. Slightly surprised as there wasn't any, she ellegantly sat up, taking in the sight of a room. But not just any room. Although the enlightment seemed to be mild, if any, it prooved sufficent for her eyes to distinguish pretty much everything. A white door, filled with 'Doremi' stickers that her little sister liked to collect, a big double-winged wardrobe hanging carelessly open, welcoming dust on a green, neatly ironed, high school uniform that hung inside it, awaiting patiently Monday morning. By it, a wide wooden desk stood among the wall beyond the window, the windowsill replacing the lacking bookshelf, cradling a bunch of thick fiction novels and a dictionary, livened up with a fresh lilly tucked in a simple vaze of transparent glass. A soft ochre carpet spread across the floor and the smooth texture beyond her fingertips revealed to be her favourite green blanket.

It was _her_ room. Suddenly saddened, she gazed spleenfully at the regiment of collorful stuffed animals and neatly clothed porcelan dolls resting on the nest of her pillow. Mom will be so sad when she finds out! Who would help her out in the shop now? And what about her little brother and sisters? How would they take it when told their oneesan was not comming back to play with them, ever again...?

Her eyes stopped on one of the toys questioningly. Odd, she never remembered having a stuffed hawk. But she _did_ remember it from somewhere else...

Wide ocean-blue eyes suddenly blinked. Only then she noticed the bird-shaped thing was returning her the gaze. Lurching back in shock, she gripped at the leg-frame of her bed, gasping.

"You feel the void within, don't you?" the strange animal was asking her, stretching it's smooth red wings up along it's sides and then bating them gently, only once or twice, till it floated weightlessly above the rest of the toys. Another stroke of wings followed and moments later the red thing was cozily resting upon the bed next to her, wide blue eyes regarding sadly her own. "Don't you, Miyako?"

A single silcky red feather that the strange creature probabbly lost during its brief flight, lulled sofly in the air above her, gently landing in her lap. She frowened slightly as she felt her mind being flooded with memories all in a rush, her hand clutched stiffly the green blanket, rumpling it aburply within it's grasp. The other one slowly stole down, reaching for the fluffy red feather. She was sure she wasn't seeing the hawk-like being for the first time. In fact, she felt as if she knew it very well, as if they've been tied together tightly by destiny itself sometime before... Her hand gently picked up the delicate feather, bringing it close to her face as if she wanted to study it toroughly. But before she could have taken a chance to do so, it split into tiny pieces, defluorishing at the edges, with the small bits fying haphazardly away in every possible direction, dissolving into air briefly afterwards.

Data? Melting with the surroundings?

"Hawkmon..." she murmured sitting upright, her grey eyes never leting the dissolving feather free of her gaze. So the birdling was a digimon... _Her_ digimon...

"Don't worry. You will be whole once again," the bird-bred skiddled closer to her, gracefully folding his red-feathered wings, and softly nuzled close to her, "But you must understand first."

She found out she couldn't properly pay attention to what Hawkmon was telling her. For what she cared, it could make no sense at all and she'd never figure. Both of her hands now layed to rest upon the smooth red feathers, soothing them down softly. Was she dead? Alive, given another chance? Was the accident a dream? Was she still dreaming?

Then, just like when the feather dissolved, small bits emerged out of nowhere and flew together, linking one to another. She watched them, bemused, as more and more of them kept emmerging, forming hands, shooes, shoulders... Before she knew it, shimmery black eyes glared searchingly back at her. A man, nicely tall and ellegantly lean suddenly stood in the middle of the room.

"Come on, he'll tell us everything we need to know," Hawkmon nudged into her side encouragingly.

If what her digimon was telling her before had appeared sensless, what he was speaking of now seemed totally indefinable. Nontheless, she nodded obbediently and stood up. As if carrying her own child, a part of her own soul, she cradled the hawkling in her arms. In a state of artifical numbness, she paced across the room till she stood beyond the untill then silent stranger.

He smiled sleekly down on her while his hand dived underneath the jacket of his black suit, in the breast pocket of his pale-yellow shirt, retrieving a pair of oval glasses. Ellegantly putting them them on, their glow enticed his almond-shaped ebony eyes. His hand dove into his neatly cut short dark green-hued crow locks for a moment and then rested upon the door's knob.

"Let us go, then," he smiled.

/ I can feel my spirit rising /

~o@o~

"You didn't need to do that."

Yamato rolled his eyes once in annoyance then quickly placed his gaze back on the road again, shrugging. Next to him, on the co-passanger's seat, his little brother tangled his fingers in his lap worriedly. Why the hell was he sorry? Why was he bothering what that bitch thought? She'd never accept him anyway...

"It had to come out eventually. Better sooner than later," he said nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"But she must feel horrible!" cried Takeru, blue eyes, veiled up with tears, turned to look at Yamato. How could his brother not see? This day prooved to be the worst he could remember having lived through so far. Not only he had lost his best friend and Miyako and Iori died in an accident, now his mother was about to deny him too! Dropping down, his eyes took in a quickly packed up duffel bag lying on the car's floor between his feet. Lungery, a few trousers and sweaters, two english litterature books and a toothbrush was what his life up until then suddenly shrinked to. He felt pretty much lost by the sudden change, by the sudden lack of stable ground underneath his feet.

It truly was much noise for nothing! It wasn't like he had a boyfriend! Because Daisuke... Daisuke didn't care. Well, at least not the way he wanted, no, _needed_ him to. His eyes silently grazed towards the glass window at his right and he watched silently as the blank features of countless gray buildings he never before noticed Tokyo was so thickly filled with flowed by as if in a spleenful haze. The view his suddenly tear-filled sad blue eyes were taking in reflected the feelings whirling in his heart. Everything he had, every single moment of his life that he could smile sincerely, that he felt truly happy and free, every sinlge one of them was rushing away from him just like they were.

The engine roared subtly but rythmically as the car drove out of the city in the rain. Where was he going to? Where was his future taking him? Was there even a furture for him out there? Takeru silently watched his own reflection on the thick glass. Two sad, profoundly desperate night sky eyes glared back at him as he watched the drops slide outside upon the smooth surface, mirroring the tears on his own face. He felt so numb, so tired, and so depressed that he hadn't even been surprised as he suddenly become aware the reflection that gazed back at him wasn't his own.

"Who are you?" he asked, still silently crying. Night sky eyes blinked, even though his did not. Long golden hair, braided in a plate pooled over his shoulder, even if his own only barely reached to his ears. A fair, heavenly white shirt shined back at him, even when he was wearing his green and yellow turtleneck. Who's reflection was he looking at? Even if it wasn't his he felt as if it somehow was, for the man that gazed back at him looked just as lost and pained as he himself was. He placed a hand upon that fair face as if wanting to brush those bitter tears off, the same tears that strained his own face. And a hand, now all but a reflection, topped his own, holding it close. And Takeru could swear the glass underneath his fingertips slowly merged to take the form of that beautiful sad face and, before he could muse how, the upto then glassy coldnes felt soft and warm and wet from the tears that run over it.

Yamato frowened, watching as his brother's hand slid softly upon the glass. He was suddenly flooded with guilt. Their parents never gave them a choice, never asked their opinions, never bothered to regard them as indipendent-thinking beings. Now, with shock, he realised he was no better. He too had never considered what Takeru would think, that he might like living in secrecy. He himself hated their mother, but he never had before she did so herself. Yes, she hated him for choosing to live with their father instead of with her. But then again, he would never bare to live with the woman that took revenge over her own husband just because he was something he never chose to be. Sure, she could have feel betrayed, but nothing in the world, not a single feeling she could have been flooded with apologised what she did in her anger. He remembered his father silently crying so manny nights when he thought his son was fast asleep. All of Yamato's uncles and grandparents, all of his cousins and a good part of family friends suddenly never wanted to know them again. He almost lost his job and the appartment too, and it all happened because that wench of his mother spilled his father's sexual orientation for all the world to hear.

It had been rough, and it hurt so much to be cut away from his little brother. He promised to himself that Takeru would never have a reason to cry as long as he was able to draw breath. But Takeru did cry. He called out his name, desperately, as their mother dragged him away. He had been so little then, what was he? Three? Four? And how old was he now? Fourteen, soon to fifteen. And he was still crying desperately, Yamato bit his lip. He watched his little brother, who was little on more, silently let his silver tears slide along his angelic face in sorrow. Yamato never considered that by wanting to protect him, to take care of him, he could hurt him so much.

He placed his eyes on the road again inwardly cursing the rain that kept pouring harder and harder. He was out of Tokyo, directed towards the weekend house near the sea. They needed to be alone, to straighten things out, to rest from the sudden loss. The visibillity was poor, but Yamato really didn't care all that much. He knew the road by heart now counting all the nights he drove his lays there. The rides back were always silent, but then again two total strangers never had anything further to say to each other beyond the clische weather topic. And he liked to keep it that way. But now the silence was greving, swalowing him. This was not one of his fucks in the car with him, this was his little broken-hearted brother, the one and only he'd give happily his life for, given the occasion.

Nervously, he bated his wet eyelashes. No, Ishida Yamato *never* cried. Ishida Yamato never cared.

But there were tars in his eyes and his heart felt like bombing out of his chest. He wasn't the cool-looking cold life model that everybody worshipped, not then, not there – not anymore. But who was he then?

/ We need a change, so do it today /

Up front, beyond his eyes, something moved. He briefly focused on the front glass window, slightly curious. Shocked, he saw his reflection's lips move, a reflection that looked nothing like him, and he heard a voice, deep and sesual, echoing trough his head. __

"Why?"

The steering wheel slid out his shocked hands and he dimly heard Takeru jelp his name. After that, only darkness embraced him.

But the voice was still there, crying.

~o@o~

It had been going on for good fifteen minutes.

"... Yes, mom... Sure... Uh-huh... I will, mother... No, I won't, mother... No, I won't forget... Yes, I will. Right. Have a nice weekend! See you both Sunday, then. Oh, mom! Sure, what could *possibly* go wrong? I know how to handle things 'round here, I'm 18, ain't I?!..."

Finally Mrs. Yagami seemed to have run out of precautions to list. She and her husband took a short weekend honeymoon in celebration of their 20th marriage anniversary. A wooden cabin underneath mount Fujiyama sounded peaceful enough... Nonetheless, something was worrying the chocolate-brown haired woman. Something... undefinable. Her mathernal instinct was screaming at her every bloody second since she stepped out of their apartment in Odeiba, baggs loaded, each in one hand, ready to be taken down the stairs to the car. She only sighed then, trowing one last glance at her children. 

"Bye, okaasan," nodded her little girl, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, bye!" her little boy grinned, draping protectively his hand over his sister's shoulders in a silent promise to take care of her.

She never wanted to addmit to herself they weren't little anymore. Maybe that was why she couldn't stop worrying? Sure, Taichi and Hikari were often left alone, but never for two whole days in a row. Then again she had to addmit her fear was silly. And that sinking feeling that kept flooding her was as well. She glanced out of the window, out over the golden and bronze hues that the autumn had painted the poetry of trees in, contrasingly framing the silvery snow gleaming on the top of the mountain. But as the rain kept falling, it veiled the view with transcendent curtains of gray, draing colour from the beautiful landscape wherever the eye was cast. She fiddeled with the wire of the telephone she was using. There really was no point in worrying like that. She wouldn't let the heavy rain of preoccupation soak her honeymoon! But still she couldn't help but reccomand her son a few things more...

"...No! Of course I won't get drunk or bring girls home, mother!" Taichi had to frown at that, remembering his parents were still oblivious about his prefferences. To tell the truth little raccomandations like that always made him feel a bit better. In a way, he felt in charge of his life, no matter how much of a temporary feeling it was. But he didn't feel OK this time. Probably it was just the shock to be blamed, and he most deffinetly looked forward on sleeping a good amount of the remaning and also the next day. "Listen, stop worrying and try to have a nice time. We'll call dad on the cell if anything happens, OK? Allright, bye now. Yes, I love you too."

As soon as he dropped the phone he rose his hands to his temples, feeling a subtle ache creeping inside his scull. He rarely had headaches but having two of your friends ran over by a car was most deffinetly a good reason for his head to protest over the shock his brain was exposed to. He rubbed them absently a couple of times and then decided an aspirin once in a while never hurt anybody. He turned away from the phone to go get one but as soon as his head spun he found himself staring into two dark-hazel depths.

"We must prepare ourselves," Hikari told him coldly, something in her voice pinning him in the spot, a subtle command that his nerves perfectly understood, but that his brain couldn't quite place. So he glared, stunned, down in her eyes, never daring to move a muscle. And as her hands, her soft delicate hands, so little among his own, tangled their fingers gently with his, he heard her whisper... "For our last course, oniisan."

A blasting feeling burst to life inside him and he grasped her hands tightly, not quite sure they weren't the cause of it, but simply having to grasp onto something. __

"Let the preparations take place, men! We shall leave at sundown!"

Where did that came form? Why was his head so heavy? His eyes cast brefly out of the window and he glared out through the glass into the rainy sky. The heavy gray clouds that kept pouring, inexorably, the sky's tears, tore painfully above the horizon and, horrified, he took in the last glimpse of the sun. __

"This may be my last course, Tiphareth, my prince..."

He lurched backwards, blindly seeking support for he knew his knees were trembling. He bumped onto the small table and soundly the phone skiddled over it's surface, thuddling on the floor. A soft dull melody of equal beepings filled the living room, synthonising perfecly with his raged breaths that he never noticed escaping his lungs. All he could hear were his heartbeats rushing in his ears. Somewhere in between them he thought he heard the doorbell, but he couldn't tell for sure until suddenly, his sister retreated her touch. His brain snapped to focus on his suroundings again and he found himself holding on to the small table behind him with a death grip. What the hell was that?

"Come in. We've been expecting you."

His head rose wearily towards the source of the voice and, not little surprised, he took in the sight of Ijoujishi Ken stepping over his treshold, trough the door that Hikari held welcomly opened for him. Wordless, he gazed as the boy shed his shoes and ellegantly stripped his wet jacket, hanging it carefully next to his favourite one, the one that Hikari liked to borrow sometimes. Entrance door closed again, both of the younger ones' eyes fixed on him and, in perfect synthony, they walked upto him. His head was still spinning and he still kept gripping at the small wooden surface behind him, and that was how he remained till both of the aproaching forms stood beyond him. Panick gripped his soul as he suddenly felt as if he had never met them before.

Ken's eyes, endlessly violet and indescribably dark, dove into his own. Soft, lifelessly cold fingers touched his aching temples sootingly and all he could do was glare back, confused.

"Geburah..." Ken mouthed, simply, softly, soothingly and Taichi surprisingly felt himself relax underneath his touch. "I'm sorry, I should have never came to life," the dark haired boy bowed his head in grief. __

"... but even if so, I shall come back. I'll never give up."

Courage, he felt the courage of facing any possible and imposible disaster that lay ahead within the veil of words that filled his heart. He felt himself drifting to a heavy but peaceful sleep that stretched slowly trough his body. He understood then, it all settled inside his head. What remained to be found out were mere detailes, further eplanations, and he silently welcomed them.

"I'm grateful..." __

"I'm grateful I have had the honor to protect you, once more."

/ I can see a clear horizon /

Hikari watched silently as her brother slumped down on the floor, unconcious, underneath Ken's touch. All of her visions have come true up to then, each and every one of her dreams took place beyond her eyes like she knew they would. But the visions ended here, with violet eyes lulling her into a sleep worth a lifetime of sadness, grief and regret, into etherninty. And, truthfully, thore violet eyes settled upon her own and she felt herself panicking slightly.

"Please," she murmured, "let me settle by him."

They both dragged the limp body of the older boy on the couch. His long chocolate locks settled haphazardly upon the soft surface and carefully, Hikari cuddled herself within her brother's lifeless arms. She tried not to think about how cold he was becoming, but nonetheless, a crystal tear slid down her face.

"Go ahead," she crisped, quietly. __

"Go ahead, my dear Necah. It is our fate."

Feeling her breath calm down, Ken withdrew his hand. His saddened violet eyes lingered over the limp brothers. But even if he never wanted to do it, he knew it was what he was supposed to do. For the best or worse, only god knew, for angels only followed orders. And were never allowed to question them.

"Hope dies last," he murmured absetly and putting on his shoes and jacket he walked out of the apartment, out of the building, away from Odeiba. Soft raindrops tripped down his face and soaked his entire form, even the broad navy umbrella he was carrying, closed, by his side. Sometimes being sorry just couldn't be enough.

And in the appartment he left his sin behind, laying forgotten on the floor, the phone kept beeping on numbly.

The journey had just begun.**X**

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One of the cutest gifts I got was Robbie Williams' 'Escapology'. Thanks, Ana & Sara!! *blows kisses* It really inspires me greatly *^^* especcialy the songs 'Feel', 'Love Somebody' and 'Cursed'! I read somewhere Robbie's depressed and doesn't seem to find a reson to live. It really reflects from his songs. Hope he'll be OK. I know he's probably not reading this but... Robbie, do never give up like Kurt Cobain did, please! I (along with at least a bunch of milion other people) need you! =*

off to chapter n°10

mail to Kitsu


	11. Alexandrian Dreams

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

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Digimon fanfic: **Proud -** Alexandrian Dreams**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_August 2003

Author's notes: I've started this chapter a dozen times over and I'm still not sure how to evolve it. I've studied the plot, no problem there, but... the words just won't come ;_; The digidestinied get addressed differently, but I'm sure you'll recodgnise them (the colour of their eyes and hair stayed the same). I got the names and plot from the Kabala and Tree of Life (Sephiroth) because, even if I'm not jewish (not that there would be anything wrong if I was) I find these theories really interesting ^^ Please, tell me what and how you think I should improve things. I'm desperate! ;___;

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"She's loosing the touch with sanity, I'm telling you..."

She was running down the crystal-wing's outer hall of the castle as if the whole emerald garden that framed it with its unique, enticing bloom was being roughly devoured by flames. She wasn't expeceted by anyone, she wasn't late for lessons and she had no tasks to attend to, but her feet kept pounding against the marble floor as quick as her heartbeat, unstoppably, and she wouldn't stop running, even knowing it was strictly forbidden. The tight feeling in her chest, throttling her from within, was too heavy to keep, too confusing to understand, too intense to filter out and worth taking the risk of being punished. Her pointed ears sensed motion up ahead but she was planning on ignore whoever it was and proceed on as quickly as possible. Yet as soon as she heard the line, she froze dead in her steps, simple white tunic-clad chest, still so much childlish, hoovering frenetically. Only minutes later two servant maids came within her sight range. 

"... perhaps this is the price one must pay by tlaking with the Seraph..."

"Nonesense. She's just a crazy old harpy, I'll be bound!"

She had never seen the two young women, nor the grumpy full-figured one walking firmly first in elloquent rage, nor the smaller one following shyly behind, but she knew they were maids. All Juniahumon maid-servants dressed in the same fashion, in pale ochre turtle-neck robes reaching their knees in ellegant full folds, showing off their pale blue feet. All Juniahumon had blue-colored feet and hands that up to their knees and elbows dissoveld to a more accepting peach-pink skin colour. But the clothing wasn't designed to show off their amazing distinctive allements from vanity, no, the reason lay in the sharp bone juttings that stirred from their shoulders, their anchles, combined with their navy-clawed finghers and inch-wide back folded horns.

But the maids had no horns nor claws - their hands had to be soft and efficent and their movements quick. Their claws and hornes were surgically removed at birth, just like the born concubines were smoothered theis jutting bones. She was told both of the process' were extremely painful and manny newborns never lived trough their first day, but those who did were assured to find a place in the socciety.

She never had any operations done, but she had nothing on her that prooved her a Juniahumon. And that because she wasn't one.

She also didn't share the moody Juniahumon maid's oppinion.

"How dare you speak like that!" she flared her spring-green eyes up in her face gritting her small fists by her sides. "You are speaking of your Mathron, you fool!" The maid's eyes piereced her with a raged glare, but she knew better than to pick up her flat-layed intimidation. Maids weren't thaught enough manipulation to get under her skin. And she wasn't quite that easy to get to either. "She sees all! She knows all!" she continued detterminatively, holding perfectly the now weakened flow of intimidation in the girl's eyes.

The shyer maid trembled fearfully behind her friend, soft blue finghers curling with her co-workers, seeking a hint of comfort. A twin sparcle of tears crystalled her soft-grey eyes and she whispered softly to the point-eared girl clad in white. Only royality was allowed to wear white. "W- We're sorry. We shall never question the Mathron again..."

But the girl knew they weren't sorry at all, just like she knew they were questioning the seer's power for a long time now and would continue to do so. Their faith was too thin. But with such a huge enemy gathering at the horizon, it was understandable. However, she had no time to argue with maids. Without another glance she ran on down the corridor's marble floor, her snow white robe and long ivy-green hair flappered in the steam of air behing her. She could hear the Mathron's prayer fill her ears with a soothing melody even long minutes before she knocked on the heavy metal-embed oak door of the temple.

The prayer stopped and she winced, suddenly cut out of the gentle lullaby back into the real world, a world where her bare feet hurt from running, where her throat was sore from the harsh breathing, where her secret lay heavily on her century-old soul, urging her to spill it out.

"Mathron!" she cried weakly trying to catch her breath, "It's me, Neecah!" And without waiting for the permission she pressed her lithe frame against the heavy door, pushing with all her might. It took a few persistant minutes, the ones in which any child would have givven up, crying for help. Neecah didn't, she believed herself long past childhood. And the urging throbbing in her chest gave her all the will and strenght she needed. As soon as she labeled the gap big enough, she urgently pushed trough - every moment that passed by was a moment wasten, forever. Or was 'forever' wasten too?

She ran breathelssly trough the big stone room, windowless, save for the rush of light that embraced softly its far end. That was where the althar gleamed, pooled by sunrays. Carved in rough stone was the embodiment of honor. High and tall there stood a legendary knight. His figure was bowed with affective protection, clad in the most captivating armour immaginable. Even by studying it for hours, the clerics and monks still couldn't exhactly tell how it was carved. The scales dissolved into laces, laces into scales, endlessly, and even by analyzing every single bit of it, they clamied it could never be possible to make a reproduction in reality. No one could even reproduce the statue itself, not even vaguely, not even details for just as uncopiable as the armour were the long wavy locks, falling lovingly down the arched back and broad armoured shoulders, framing an indefinably beautiful face. Was it sincerity what radiated from it? Was it love? Courage? Wisdom, hope? Whoever looked at it saw something else. It had been givven the name of 'soul miror', for it was believed one could find himself by simply posing eyes upon it's smooth surface. A stunningly big sword was planted in the gound, the blade covered with untraceable patterns which smoothly dissolved into the huge handle. The hand that held it, even if twice as big as nature would dictate, seemed nearly too small and childlish for it. Wide feathered wings unfold to embrace the marbelous figure, countless delicate smooth feathers, incredibly precisely settled, welcoming the spectator's gaze. No one knew how the statue was made, but rumors would see to claim it was the hero that it reassembled himself, willingly captured in stone, the Seraph Alexeon.

But Neecah never stopped to lay her eyes on him, she rather concentrated on the figure kneeling beyond it. "Mathron!"

Slowly the figure rose to her feet, willowy form filling the heavy white folds of her full-lenght robe. A long colorless plait followed the lenght of the spine and, as she turned, expressionless crimson eyes, as if beholding an endless black void, turned her way. But the girl knew they wern't titeled at her. They couldn't be.

As soon as she reached the seemingly etherial woman, she collapsed on her knees, exhausted from running, yet she paused only long enough to fill her lungs properly, once. "Mathron Binah -- I have to tell you...!" she cried briefly, having to pause in order to gasp more air. But before she could continue, the woman's features softened lovingly and a calm voice, so much more different than when intoning a prayer, yet no less earable, asked her softly.

"About your dream?"

And Neecah sat, dumbfolded, pointed ears dropping with shock. "Yes..." she mumbled gazing up in the seer's face with unabashed surprise. Sure the Mathron was able to tell what would happen in advance, but she'd never guessed she could predict dreams too... She kept looking up in that seemingly unreal visage, the proof of a century of future-reading traceble only by the wisdom it emmaned. And Neecah knew that for a Juniahumon a century was more than a lifetime would benefficially offer, just as well as she knew that had she been someone else, she wouldn't be givven the seer's undevided attention.

Mathron Binah's face was still titeled in the direction Neecah had came running from, features never twitching. But then again her whole pressence raidated peace and tranquillity of spirit, calming everybody down, even the anxious emerald-eyed girl. She outstreched a pale hand, in her calm demeanor, a hand that wasn't Juniahumon-like blue or clawed. It most slanted on white, if any colour at all. Givving it a close look, one could easily trace all the veins, all the cuncle bone junctionings, all the pale strings of nearly unused muscles. She outstretched it limply in front of her, souless eyes lost in an illusionary dream that never ceised. "Let us seatle 'in remembrance'" she whispered, keeping pacefully still.

Neecah noded, even knowing the Mathron could never tell, and picked herself up from the cold stone floor. For a brief moment she wondered if the woman was alive at all. She never slept, never ate, never left the chapel. She was sure she would have never talked and smiled either if it weren't for her, for all she ever did otherwise was pray. And Neecah loved to hear her prayers. She mostly never understood the lyrics, but that didn't make the melody blissfully beautiful any less. Only one person had a voice to shade the Mathron's, but he would never sing.

She took the seer's hand gently, as if fearing her childlish hands could crush it whithin their light hold. With a wont, but no less careful step she guided the etheral woman up the althar's red-carpeted steps all the way to the last one, glently helping the nearly hollow form to sit comftably beyond the breath-taking statue of the Seraph, his wings folding as if to cradle them both in a warm embrace. Swiftly, she settled by her, resting her ivy-green haired head on the Mathron's lap.

"Now tell me," the woman smiled vaguely, gazeless eyes lost in untraceable thoughts, "what have you dreamed about, Nee?"

Nee... Neecah smiled at the nick-name givven to her such a long time ago. And even now, deccades later, it sounded just as loving as the first time. "I dreamed of a strange world... so different from our own," she breathed, delighted to feel delicate fingers sorting a long lock of her ivy hair, absently braiding it up. "I dreamt of a girl who suffered a great loss, whom nobody undrestood. And when she finally found love... she..." even the seer's soft soothing touch wasn't enough to calm her down completely at that point. The memory, the sick feeling that woke her up harshly, crying, was too strong. "She... died in her sleep, wishing to hold her love one last time..."

Mathron Binah cupped her face then, slowly planting her delicate lips upon the girl's temple. "Dear Nee," she smiled lovingly, "she won't die alone."

~o@o~

He groaned, rubbing his temples. His headache seemed resolved to keep banging trough his head, endelssly. And the equal banging of his heavy armour-scales clashing against one another as he hurried on his way wasn't helping either.

It was a bad morning. One of those he wished he could simply curl up in the corner of his room and sleep the whole day long. Or at least that was what he would normally wish to do. But as the days passed by, peaceful sleep and sweet dreams were seemingly nowhere to be found. So with a bad day gleaming at the horizon, the best way to survive it was get up and face it, as simple as that. The only problem remained that practically every day started out in this precise bad way. What way? It was quite indefinable as well as unnerving waking up every morning as if from a nightmare that he know he should be able to remember – but couldn't.

And he stopped dead in his tracks, just outside the military reassemblance hall that beheld a meeting he was unexcusably late for.

Why... hadn't he thought something like that sometime in the past? No, not that he could recall if he did. But then why? Why did it sound familiar, why did it roll out of is thoughts' folds so rutinely?

He shook his head determinatively then, deciding it didn't really matter. With a wont geture he placed his clawed blue hands against the heavy double-winged oak portal, pushing it open in an honorful swing. In a rustle of clothes and clinger of armours, his men rose from their seats, from the first to the last. Yet the last didn't, he merely noded his golden-leaded head in acknowledgement.

"Comander Geburah," the blonde stated simply, his voice the very essence of finest silk against his ears. It was allright if the blonde remained seated, for he wasn't one of the commander's men. Rather... the comander was *his* man. His trusted friend. 

"My prince," Geburah descended to his knee in the dorway, taking in the light, white robe-clad sihouette sitting gracefully near the head of the table, near an empty seat. *His* seat. Blue eyes, unique night-sky blue eyes, gazed with trust back into his own, reding his thoughts, mirroring simpathy.

"Please, stand up. There really is no need for such formalities, Geburah," the prince smiled a charming smile down at him, the silcken tones lulling their way trough his soul till they warmed up his heart. No 'commander', no 'Son of Izmaemon', no 'lord Valentine'... just Geburah. He knew his men must have noticed, but it was beside the point. For those wonderful night-sky eyes, that shimery long loose golden blonde locks, that enticing smile - they were more than worth it. He stood up as ordered, no, kindly asked for, and he forced himself to bit his lip. For just as his men's murmurs, he knew his own feelings were beside the point too, or at least they should be.

His tired autumn eyes glided over the folk gathered, meeting every single man's gaze meningfully unill the hall was still with thick silence anew. He eyed his prince again, gathering all the bursting emotions that his wonderful presence evoked inside him 'till he poured every single one of them into unquestioning devotion of a thrusted warmaster that he truly was. "The enemy troops are aproaching, my leech. They are to attack Lexeis at dawn-brake," his voice had a steady, deep ring and standing there, bathing in his overlord's caring eyes, he forced himself to feel that way too. The troops gathering at the horizon were outrageously huge, the informer had announced. Four times the number of his men and still in-comming. And they were digimon of all kinds; from the magic-strong Pixiemon to the brutal whole of and entire hord of Telurimon. And his own troops, Juniahumon from the first to the last, weren't even war-digimon to begin with. While the enemy could count and stratgise combining phisical and magical attacs, all they had was footage or mounts, being a race not particulary strong nor magic ridden, but something peuny in between. And that wasn't even the worse thing. They were banned from the City of Reincarnation. Once a Juniahumon died, he died forever.

But he felt no fear of death if it meant loosing his life to protect his prince. For nothing, not a single treasure in the entire digiworld could compre to the fae vision of the one whom he had givven his heart or to the feeling, this unstoppable affection, that he became one with as their eyes met. But for as strong as the rails of his heart were, he knew this train of love was leading to the never-station. And yet... he let it lead him on. It gave him the courage to do his best, to lead his men to battle, to win.

Silken tones filled his ears again and even though they were slightly more than a reluctantly shaken whisper, to Geburah, they felt as a blessing. "... What do you suggest?" Tiphareth stood up to speak to him and only to him, slender blue clawless fingers gripping the table in their nervousness.

His prince felt nervous, his prince felt unsure, or perhaps even scared. There was no need to him to feel that way! "My leech," he breathed, leanig upon the table himself thanking Alexeon's spirit for it to be standing in his way less he'd gather his lord in his arms right then and there, reassured him with a breathtaking kiss perhaps... "I allready have a strategy," ... tell him aloud not to worry... "If we attack them by surprise during the night, I recoon we'd even get hold of their Commander!" ... and that he'd suffer any penitence possible and impossible 'till it'd keep his prince out of harm's way.

Prince Tiphareth stood in silence for a long moment, just marveling the bravery that his commander emmaned. Once, a long way back, they were still free and natural in their equallity, when he was just a court-kid and Geburah was just the horseman's son. Best friends from the day they had met, they were never seen separetly. Back when he was three, it was the most natural thing to say that he'd marry Geburah and it also made perfect sense at the time being- after all, weren't two kings better than one? But as years passed, his damsels and gouvernants taught him a kingdom needed a king and a queen, because, unlike the rest of the digimon, Juniahumon neded to reproduce, needed to give life to a son to please the ancient spirit of the Sacred Tree. So he promised he would marry, as well as he promised he would have a son and lead the Juniahumon as had his father and his father's father and as has his family from the beginning of time.

But he never promised he would love his wife. He never promised that he wouldn't shut his eyes while making love and think of Geburah. He never woed not to wish another lover. And he was glad of it because, for the life of him, he knew he wouldn't stop doing those things. Stone-heart, the damsels had called him, but not out of cruelty, Tiphareth was a just young prince, but becouse of his indifferency for their charms. He was seventeen, the age of a blossoming man, and they knew very well he would be to look for a queen soon, but no matter how low-cut was their dress, how fine was their hair and make-up, how much they bated their lashes at him - he never showed more than contempt for either of them.

He remained friends with Geburah, even though he felt they were somehow more than friends. Hands that brush in the hallways, way too long 'friendly' hugs, secret longing gazes... But then the war had come and he spent hours kneeling at his father's feet till he's make Geburah the troops' Commander instead of a mount or worse, a footman. He hoped that at least this way he could keep the boy by his side, but it didn't help much... the only improvement seemed to be that Geburah could come and see him in the Royal rooms without the need of a formal reason. And just looking at his friend, clad in a shiny admantium armour, a shock of wild soft chocolate hair messed up from the helmet, two deep autumn eyes radiating the most syncere of devotions... he so neded a very informal reason to see him in his rooms.

"What will you need, Geburah?" he asked, flooded with a heady rush of craving, of wanting, that he could only hope his eyes could show as they dug into the one's who made him feel this way.

"Only your blessing, my leech," the Commander smiled, and, for the first time in his life, the prince decided to remodel the procedure. Then Geburah turned to his men, wild chocolate locks flying, armour scales clashing, cape waving. "My comrades! My friends!" he bellowed loudly for everyone to hear, "I'm asking you to stand by my side once more! For our king, for our prince, for the Sacred Tree, with the Seraph's blessing - I'm asking you - WILL YOU DO IT?!"

Loud cheers filled the hall as the gathered rose their fists in approval, all as one, and their leader watched them proudly. And then, before he could stop it...

"Let the preparations take place, men! We shall leave at sundown!"

It left his lips as if all of his words were taped and timed and suddenly his hotheaded thurst for battle was quenched. The world seemed to block itself out of his mind, or at least the sound did for he never heard his men shout ther agreement and head out of the hall. He turned, slowly, to look at his prince whom he, to his shock, found wearing a similar bemused expression. Somehow, it felt as though he was doing a great mistake.

~o@o~

"Hod?" echoed a deep voice down the library hall, unanswered. "Hod!"

A Juniahumon man was walking along the corset of big bright windows. He stopped every one in a while, rubbing his ellegant navy beard, a beard that, as his long, wavy hair was enchanted here and there by delicate whisps of silver, or, as his young apprentice would like to kid, 'stitches of wisdom'. But, weither he was right or wrong, they remained a diplay of time beginning to close his bloom, leading his life into a speenful autumn and wouldn't his heart feel much younger, he'd be quite happy with slowly hitting his fourties.

"Hod!!" he called out one last time, a little louder, before deciding to bravely dive in the mazze of isles to find his apprentice. The boy was such a knowledge-thirsty little monster! Always asking yet a thousand and one question before he had even stopped explaining his last one of the previous ones, or spending hours, days and sometimes even weeks with his nose in books, mostly forgetting to even eat, and hadn't it been for his tutor bringing him meals and forcefully tearing him away from the reading, he would have probbably died a couple of times or even turned into a scheletron over a book.

He had rounded only a couple of fit-full dusty bookshelves, his grey monkish robe bilowing in his wake, and already he stopped aburptly in his own steps. His apprentice was standding by one of the biggest wall bookshelves, to his grand surprise, not reading for once. The book he was holding was closed and pressed to his chest. His head was bowed and he stood as still as a lifeless statue, his dreamy silhouette surrounded by tangible melancoly making him seem like a vision from a fairy-tale.

Now suddenly reluctant to break the silence, the elder slowly smiled at the lullaby of beauty that his eyes were enchanted with. And he was just as reluctant to addmit that his apprentice was no longer little. He wasn't exhactly firm-built but rather youthfully toned. And the way his gray robe fell against him... It was a special robe (for a special person, he like to joke when he washed it for his apprentice), without sleves and cut horizontally where it met the fine hip-bones, with only a flap descending to the ground down his front. Underneath, in all it's fox-red fur majesty, stood a healthy body of a young stallion, ebony black tail, brushing the ground, filckering.

"Hod..." he whispered softly, and the centaur shivered. Short fox-red locks flew about his face and startled hazel eyes met the elder's ebony black in genuine shock. "M- master Jesod?!" he stuttered, his hoofs shifting, making his upper humanoid torzo lean ellegantly back to regain balance. However, the momentum was enough for the book to slide out of his fingers, thudding heavily down on the soft crimson carpet. Leathered covers shifted themselves open with rebounce and heavenly white pages flickered with a silent melody of rustles.

Hod stayed grevingly silent, fingers numb. He'd 'dropped' a tome, a treasure of their culture and wisdom- the most holly artifact Juniahumon posessed. Also, one of the most crucial things that separated them from the rest of the Digimon. Unlike them, who lived in the slaveary of the Gennai-council, powered by instinct and primal communication, they were self aware inddependants, the Seraph's blessed ones, the sacred tree's sacred bloom. He closed his eyes and gritted his fists as if to stone himself from the well earned yelling from his master. There was simply no excuse for disgracing something as valuable as knowledge.

The elder Juniahumon watched his apprentice stiffen biting his lower lip with his eyebrows raised. Such an intelligent and respectful boy he had grow into right before his very eyes. Who would have ever believed an abbandoned half-breed, born to a neglating Juniahumon and, presumably, a primal-driven Centurimon, would bloom into such a taktful and caring being? True, the aincient Writers did state that a child reflects the sunrays that shone over him while he grew up, and not the ones that he was born into, but still Jesod couldn't stop his heart flutter in awe. He felt younger, much younger all of a sudden and he briefly wondered if the admiration that filled him was really a fruit of his surprise over Hod's developmet or simply of the boy's presence...

He walked up to the book and lifted it from the floor in one slow smooth move. As heavy as it was, he shifted it open in his arms, ebony eyes sliding over the first page. In black-inked symboles, written to last, were the words he expected. A long, long time ago, his own master had told him to write them. He smiled slighty, remembering how manny times had the thin willow-stick knocked his soft childlish fingers 'till he learned to write them as respectfully as their nature would dictate. Ever so softly, Jesod read them aloud, more from his heart then from the book.

"Sun shall come and Sun shall die  
Wars and blood shall paint the sky  
Be proud to do what thee may   
Thy faith shall find a way."

He felt eyes on him, those wonderful, rich hazel eyes. Not succeseding (and not wanting to, anyway) Jesod allowed himself to dive into them, endlessly. He was standing fairly close to him. He could only reach out and- and stop fantasying. He swore that to himself times and times over, every day at least, for being a respectful monk of the King's order, he knew he could be severly punished for doing such a thing. But it wasn't the fear of the order that kept him at bay, but the true, unique affection and care that he nutrished for his apprentice.

"I- I'm terribly sorry, master..." mumbled Hod thoroughly mortified as well as not little surprised to see his tutor smiling down at him. But he was further surprised when the man started to laugh, nearly hysterically so as he tryed to stiffen the giggles with an upraised hand covering his lips. "... Jesod?" he asked wearily, efficently confused, "I doubt you're sadistic, but I must say I'll start to believe otherwise if you keep this up..." He frowened, a little smile of his own drawing on his lips. He hadn't seen his master as happy from when the war started months ago.

"Oh, you know I can't punish you," Jesod was holding his glases away from his face to whipe his tears of laughter in his gray monkish robe's sleve. His surroundings were blury and fantasy-like, but as much as he willed his fantasy could come true then and there, he also knew it was such a narrow chance that he should most deffinetly lock his hopes deep down in his heart, where he'd remember them spleenfully when Hod would take his place and lead the monastery. "But," he smoothly put his glasses on again, "you will get punished by the cook if you don't galop down and eat your lunch."

"Oh!" cried Hod, smackng his forehead as he suddenly remembered. "For the Tree's blessing, I didn't know it was *that* late!" He nearly sped ahead along the dusty shelves when he rather stopped just a few feet ahead and turned, smiling in invitation, ebony tail dancing to brush the fine cantaur legs, "Tag along, master?"

But the elder only shook his head reverntly, "I'd only slow you down, but Hod..." he walked up close to his apprentice again, ebony black eyes bathing in the gentle sea of hazel brown, "... you forgot this." He lightly placed the heavy leathered book in those boyish hands, along with his heart. For as unread as the book, his heart was never before touched by earthly love.

"But master," Hod frowened, "the book is completely wordless save for the poem..."

And Jesod smiled, having to turn away from those soul-searching eyes less they'd knew how much the book meant to him. "Sometimes, Hod," he nearly whispered, letting the sunrays play on his suddenly saddened face, "wordless pages tell more than we could ever mouth."

His mind floated away, it hurt too much to think. Prhaps, even without the City of Reincarnation, they would meet again. For Alexeon's sword, was he being melancolic, he chided himself. Was it because of his dream that he was acting so childlish? His dream... what an infatutated boy he had played in it! He had swore his red-headed love that he'll love him no matter what, but... 

"Thank you."

"Yes," smiled Jesod sadly, "that were the boys last words."

"Beg your pardon?" frowened Hod, rounding his master untill he could look him in the eyes. What he had said was just-

"Ah! Hod! You're still here? Weren't you supposed to run for the kitchen, young man?!" Jessod bellowed, jumping a little as the fae vision interrupted his dream meditation. He often zoned out like that, daydreaming when around Hod and, swearing to himself, the mental-checked he must stop doing it for his reputation's sake. But, watching his embarassed and apologetic assistant dissappear in an efficient kas trough the countless alleys, the heavy blank book swept on his chest, he also mental-checked another thing.

"Do you believe in destiny, Hod?" he whispered to the countless books that had all been held in the centaur's arms, rested upon his heart, felt his fingers brush trough them - things that he knew he could never do himself.

Hod, on the other hand was galloping over the courtyard of the castle, bathed wholly by the shimmering sunlight with fether-like grace. His thoughts however were not as light. 'thank you' was what he had said in his dream while his love's long blue locks had caressed his face. And he breathed in them, the last time. **X**

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Man, descriptions are draining! X.x How could Tolkien do that?!! And why the heck is he dead - I can't even ask him now. I'm an incapax... *sobs*

I'm thinking of writing a lemon, (cause it would make me fell better ^.^0) so if you think it would fit in - TELL ME, if you think it wouldn't - also TELL ME. Oh, and, don't forget to add which couple!

off to chapter n°11

mail to Kitsu


	12. Sephiroth

*Disclaimer: This work is NOT meant for sale or any other way of profit, it was created for entertainment only.All rights reserved to Digimon belong to Toei and other people that created and realized the project. If Digimon belonged to me it surely wouldn't end the way it did. =P

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Digimon fanfic: **Proud -** Sephiroth**  
**(various pairings)  
_Kitsune  
_November 2003

Author's notes: I'm beginig to wonder why have I titled this fic "Proud". There's absolutely nothing to be proud about it, except perhaps that this is my longst fic ever. And yet... well, I'm happy when I write it. I've dreamed it up over the last 4 years and... heck, don't you like to see your dreams come true? ...bah, I'm blabbering! _ Aaaah! Go on to the fic!!

HEAVY YAOI LIME alert! Yeee-haw! *^.^*

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Warm rays of autum sunlight glittered golden over the cold marble floor, but only the ones that had struggled their way past the thousands of sky blue mirrors held by delicate glass nymphs and white-stone elves leaning gracefully upon the tall strictly grey walls, so silent, so distant from each other, souless carvings that they were. Years past, skilled hands had lended them eternity, through art and love, through sweat and blisters, all to please their lord. The magic light that danced through the room were heavens alone reflected from above, shiny and mistc and endlessly blue far up to the pale moon and stars. But whilst the lord eldered and died, as has his son and his son's son and the sons after him, they still remained silent and unmooving, bystanders forced to witness joy and grief, love and hatred, honor and embarassment, justice and thretchery - forced to watch life and never know what it felt like. Beautiful, eternal - that they were, all their lords longed to be. But what was beauty and what was eternity worth when they remained cold and alone?

Embraced by the spell of nymphs and elves was a lone throne. Golden vines sprang out of the marble steps to embrace it, silver leaves leant upon it to enchant it, both greedily basking in the shimmering sunlight mirrored upon them. Golden and crimson satin pillowed the seat, old as time, yet soft as a cloud. Upon it, sat the pained form of a thoughtful king.

War. Such a simple word, such a dreadfully bloodstrained maning. Who thought of it, he wondered. Who could ever enclose so much pain, hatred, violence, sacrifices, dissapointment, sweat, blood, death and grief in one three-lettered word? Who had such a power? He'd give anything to have it. Maybe then, war would be a song, a passion, a caress, a blessing, a victory, an honor, spring and joy for his people. But as things lay, all he kept thinking about was the risk he had taken. Were the lives of his men worth their freedom?

His counclers kept remarking his Highness was too nice of a king, that rulers don't need to noutrish such care and affection towards their people. But he couldn't help it and, truthfully, didn't want to anyway. Didn't the Seraph say every single living being had been brought to life by the Sacred Tree and had its place below the sun? So did the maids, so did the monks and scholars, so did the soldiers and farmers and fishermen, same poor as royal, Juniahumon or not. And everybody's life was prcious and unique, much more than any of the juwels in the royal treasury could ever be.

For years he had obediently payed taxes to the demanding Gennai Order so they would let his citadell in peace. But it seemed it had been too long since Juniahumon were given autonomy thanks to the Seraph's sacrifice. They were neat, culture-loving, creative and philosophical digimon, all of which the Gennai feared. Primal and stupid they could handle, but intelligent and wise was another song. Was it the fear of being wise-cracked that had forced them to change their mind and leash their wild hords upon his kingdom? He was sure.

Despite his lead status power, he felt weak. Paying taxes and diplomatic peace threaties he could handle, but war... He was no fighter. He was no strategist, no magical protector. Realization hit him heavily as the Order refused his peace negotiation - he was no Seraph, even his sacrifice couldn't seal his people's safety again. But, oh if it could... ! Nothing would have stopped him from ripping his heart out of his chest 'till it'd beat quiet and bleading 'in Remembrance' under the Seraph's wings...

He leaned back sorrowfully, gripping the wide gold and silver embed recliners. Worthless, weak, pathetic were the words that echoed in his mind, were mirroring him the bare truth of the downfall of his beloved people.

"Jun...," he mumbled, shaken, as if it could save him, suck him back in that world of dreams where he could simply cuddle close in a loving embrace and cry, without questions, without laws, without expectations. Where he was loved and protected and understood...

He shoock his head then, unable to keep remembering less he'd feel his tears fall. He stood up from the glittering throne and called for his servants. "Tell my sons to come before sunfall," he pleaded and bare blue feet ran to comply, happy to be able to do one thing more for the beloved ruler.

~o@o~

"Kokmah..."

His head shot up instantly as the melodious voice called him out of his prayer. His long golden braid that had rested neatly over his shoulder, with a violent swing flew to leash upon his back. He felt it slap harshly upon his barely covered frame, but that held no importance. It could have as well been an axe or sword or the most deadly of spells, it didn't matter as long as he could hear it say his name... They were such sweet tones, such a bolting thrill as he felt himself unworthy of hearing them. He raised his eyes to the dorway, smiling sweetly as his night sky gaze was mirrored back, as were the long golden locks, as was his soul. From the doorway, his brother Tiphareth was watching him with care.

"Dearest outoto..." that wonderful voice spoke again, and he couldn't stand it, he picked himself up from the steps he'd been kneeling on and in a rustle of heavenly white robes he dashed to meet the soft embrace. The Seraph had said the Sacred Tree is the only to cradle us whole again in perfection, yet those soft arms, that unique parfume, that gentle smile... could a world without them really be perfect?

"I've came to see you," his wonderful brother whispered, bold affection running stong beneath his veil of words. Kokmah urged his eyes to meet his again, as much as it was nice to be held in his warm embrace. Those eyes again... they intoned a silent spell, wordless, soundless, unknown to books and monks, to the Serph and the Sacred Tree... only he knew it by heart. He let himself be mesmerised, enchated, bewitched by those eyes that could reflect the glitter of the wishing star that was his wonderful, kind, unique soul. Near they came, nearer by the second. Smiling lips touched his and his world spun. Forever or not, he'd greet his death with opened hands if it met him there.

Lips parted, tongues danced, fingers flew... it was all happening so fast, so intensley, so triggingly that all he could do was whish more. But all the flowers in the garden wheiter away when winter comes, he knew. Soft lips grew cold upon his own, gentle hands turned firm on his shoulders and his name echoed him awake as a first morning sunray upon the pillow of his dream. "Kokmah!" it called him back to his senses as his vision cleared of his fog of passion.

Oh,... what guilt! That angelic visage, that heavenly illusion- he had kissed his own brother. Again. But what was he to do? Every time he questioned his heart to whom it belongs, it gave him the same dirty answer. But how could loving such an angelic vission be dirty? He couldn't say. He brought his hands up to cover his face, to deny his sinful eyes the beauty of his golden love, to pusnish them.

But even closed, all he kept seeing were night sky eyes, same as his own, comming closer. He was embarassed beyond belief and wearing a blush to match it, he was sure. And he was to become the Seraph's elite Knight? With such impure thoughts clouding his mind and straining his flesh? He had came to the royal chapel to purificate himself, to root strongly his faith in the Sacred Tree, to spread his wings as the Seraph has, for his first battle was beyond the night's treshold. How was he to gleam with hope for is troops if he himself couldn't bare to hope for the only thing his heart ached to have? He tore himself out of his brother's arms and crouched down curling on himself. Grow up, he thought, I want to grow up...!

"Kokmah?" resonated the wonderful melody of tones through him again, "What's wrong?"

He didn't raise his head, not even when soft hands reached to caress his face, not even when a loving kiss was planted on his tample. What's wrong, his beloved had asked him... As if it wasn't evident. Everything was wrong. But beyond anything else, the Sacred Tree was wrong. Wrong having birth him as Tiphareth's brother, wrong having forgot to bless him with the power of speech. So manny flowers bloomed within his heart, rare and unique in their own way, just waiting to be gifted to their sun, their moon, their earth - to Tiphareth. But he couldn't give them away, not without his voice. So the words remained frozen in his throat, and he could only wait for the winter to come and bare the blooming meadow of his heart. Why didn't the Seraph seal love away too? Wasn't love evil as well?

"Should I answer that question?"

Both brothers' identical eyes snapped up towards the owener of the voice. Geburah stood in the doorway, tender autumn eyes regarding both of his princes. He had left his armour in his rooms to be oiled until tonight, so only his white robe covered his coffee-tan skin. He smiled lightly, stepping into the small chapel and closing the door in his wake. He felt his lords' eyes dance upon his form aprettiatively and having a hard time remaining compostured, litteraly even, he repated his words gently, "Should I, prince Kokmah?"

The younger prince nodded, smiling and Geburah offered him his hand. Watching his little brother stand up and place a fether-sweet kiss on his commander's cheek, melting into his strong embrace, Tiphareth leaned back against the wall, sighing. "You had scared me out of my skin," he breathed, relaxing, stretching a bit more than neccesarry while basking in the predatory look that his Comander gave him. But not only him. With a scarlet blush decorating his cheeks, Kokmah was shyly watching him as well.

"Let that be a lesson to you then," Geburah sugessted mildly, "Lock the door if you wish to remain unbothered by wandering eyes, my leech."

"I don't mind _your_ wandering eyes," purred Tiphareth, slowly playing with the strings of his belt, a belt under which his white tunic was suspitiously starting to bulge...

Kokmah hid his face in the hollow of his Comander's neck, watching his brother moving so sensually was burning him, consuming his sanity. He felt himself straining against his better gugement, pressing onto the older digimon. He was mocking the testament again, he was having impure desies, in the chapel even! He pulled at Geburah's robe softly, silently calling out for the feeling to linger, teasing him some more, yet knowing it was wrong. But in Geburah's arms everything felt right, he was the high law, wasn't he?

The tan Comander's hand, clawed, but careful, lifted his chin to meet his eyes, and a sea of chocolatte, sparcled with desire, warmed his senses further. "Prince Tiphareth," he smiled, intoning his brother's name, "prince Kokmah is troubled, as you've noticed, as am I. Fancy how the cause of our trouble is the same..." Subtly, Kokmah never noticed when, the Comander's tigh found its way between his and slowly, just to tease himself, he started riding it, wrapping his arms around the older Juniahumon's waist not to slide off.

Tiphareth watched them with a content grin, of course he was the source of their trouble, he damn well made sure he always was. But it wasn't just a cocky tease. Geburah and Kokmah were the two beings he most cared about in the entire Digiworld, the ones he'd do everything for if only asked. And now it seemed they were asking him, pleading him gently to join them. Playing untouchable reluctance as his reputation would dictate, became very hard, harder by the minute, and he let his belt slide down onto the bulge of his tunic. Pulling the strings again harshly, he constricted it painfully, head falling back against the wall in elasion. Hands, he decided, he wanted hands on himself, all over. And lips, sweet gentle lips...

He picked himself off the wall and slowly approached his beloved ones. "If there is something bothering you, then we better see to it straight away," he stated sleekly, his voice light and inviting. Geburah watched him wrap gentle hands around his brother's waist and softly the younger digimon melted onto him, folding his arms back around his neck, still unable to stop rocking against the offered tigh. Downward Tipharet's hands wandered, down until he grasped fistfuls of his brother's white tunic. Playfully he lifted it up his body and above his waist, exposing the small, jockstrap-like white cloth that was still barely covering his most intimate parts.

Kokmah was panting by then, red with realization of what he was doing, even more embarased now that he could see just how his pouch pressed against Geburah's coffee-tan tigh. He rocked his hips with an expertice he never knew he posessed, every rub easing his briefs lower and shooting his need higher. His mind was fuzzy and clouded and throughout it all he felt his tunic being lifted off of him, replaced in a moment by his brother's gentle hands. He reached into Geburah's robe-folds eagerly, urged to share the passion felt, urged to concentrate on giving some of it away less he'd succumb too soon.

Soft hands, soft as his own could never be, sneaked beneath the fall of his robes, slender fingers grazing over his pouch. He groaned in surprise, muscles bucling with the spontaneous reflex of needing more. And the fingers gave him more. They roamed and explored, rubbed and squeezed, until he was riding them on, following their lead. A lightning-like feeling stroke his mind, and he had to wonder... hadn't he felt this way before? Hadn't he dreamed about it tonight? He wasn't sure, all he remembered was a sweet teen sqirming beyond him, pushed against the wall by his force, shimmery blond locks, night-sky eyes... "Takeru..." he muttered and the fingers rubbed him harder, rougher. He could feel his organ-pouch part, his member springing out, lubed, ready, needing...

"Enough," ordered Tiphareth, stilling his brother's hand underneath Geburah's robes, "let us sit down." The other two stilled their motions with unearhtly force of will, but only because their prince's voice promised them heaven. Barely resisting to keep their hands at bay they turned to Tiphareth, their sun in this void of lust. But the void only deepened as they took in all of his perfect skin, all of his willowy form when his robe pooled around his ancles, his long fair locks framing him delightfully like a golden halo. Holding, they settled on the althar, Geburah kissing his younger prince gently while lifting him on the ceremonial table, their eyes quickly moving to look again upon the beauty they were addicted to, Tiphareth.

"With the Seraph's blessing, for the Sacred Tree," he intoned the silence, moving closer, night-sky eyes ablaze, "may our desires be fulfilled."

And as he came, wordlessly and soundlessly as always, wrapped tight in Geburah's embrace with his brother deep inside him, Kokmah's heart was bleeding sweetly. Being kissed, not knowing by who exhatly, he saw the light of faith wash his sins and summon his strenght, winding his hope into certancy.

'Sure. Whatever you want...'

Such a devoted feeling. All was as it was meant to be... 

'Davis.'

Such a faithful ring to the word. If only he could guess who did it name...

~o@o~ 

"He called me!" he jerked to his feet, slamming his fists against the picth black table he was sitting at, as if awaking from a furious dream, flushed, startled. His eyes were opened, he was sure, despite all he could see were anonymus shades of dark grey and black. Forcing himself to calm down, he inhaled deeply, eyes snapping suspittiously from side to side. He wasn't where he had fallen asleep, he was certain of it, and he wasn't alone. "Where am I?" he inquired demandingly, senses sharp in the dark.

A sweet chuckle danced all around him, making him jump. It seemed tumbling off the unseen walls, softly so, but creeping coldly uderneath his skin in his veil of fear. Still, he was the Child of Courage and Friendship and would not crumble under any threat, no matter how deadly... then he remembered. He _had_ crumbled. He had cried, unstoppably, cried himself to sleep. Love, death, denial, lust... it had been too much for him to take. Taichi had never crumbled, Yamato never cried - and he did both at the same time when all he was threatened with was falling in love. He slumpled into his chair, sighing. Maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe the chuckles were only his brain laghung at his heart's stupidity... What a wired dream...

The laughter stopped and he snapped his eyes open against the darkness surounding him. The thought white little spots formed out of nowhere, dancing beyond his eyes, but as they begun to stick together, more and more of them, he actually realized they were small constantly changing numbers, one and zero, over and over.

Binomical system? Data? ... Digiworld?!

As if fired by his realization, the room brightened in a powerful flare, making him jelp, rushing to cover his eyes. As he felt safe to open them again he peeked at his surroundings, and did a doubletake. It wreren't the violet void-like walls, nor the wide, old-style, polished oak table he was sitting at what jerked him out of his revire. What froze the bloodflow in his veins was who was sitting passively by each side of the table. Miyako and Iori. But he had no time to freak out, for a voice across the table called his name.

"Daisuke," his name tumbled off the non exhistent walls, as the chuckle had, and he snapped his head up to glare at the one intoning it, meeting a slightly familiar face. An ellegant man sat across him, his short raven-black locks glowing subtly emerald, almond-like ebony eyes enchanted by thin oval glases. The collar of his pale yellow shirt contrasted his void-black suit in an ellegant way and he leaned his chin up on one hand, the other thacing abstract patterns over the leathered coves of a thick tome placed on the table. "You are most welcome," the man smiled, but without any hint of wrmth and it chilled the shocked out boy to the bone. "This," he continued, waving his hand over the table, "is a temporal lock. I'm afraid you won't find it very pleasant, but it's the best I could do."

"Temporal lock...?! Masaka!" Daisuke gaped, unbelieving. "This is Digiworld!" he groaned, somewhat shielding his fear the only way he knew how to when he couldn't run away from it, with anger.

"Yes, you are quite right," the man pushed his glases up his nose expertly, "but then so am I."

Pressured by the ebony gaze, Daisuke grabbed hold of his recliners gripping them painfully. Pain was good, he decided, pain was keeping him at bay, giving him something else to concentrate on rather that his fear. "Who are you? How did I get here? Why the fuck am I here?!" he snapped, glaring.

The man only laughed, his deep soft voice echoing back and forth through the empty place. "Now, now," he chided, "no need for such harsh words." Then suddenly his features steeled, serious, and he leaned back in his chair. "I am the one that brought you here, I am the one that will answer your questions, the one that will end this sharade the Chosen Children brought upon their fate."

"The heck?!"

"You'll have to cooperate," the man continued, ignoring Daisuke's outburst despite annoting he would answer his questions, "for the lives of your two frends here, as well as the others, depend on you." He leaned forward, pushing the book firecely over the table's surface till it fell in Daisuke's lap. "Read," he ordered, leaning his chin on his fists.

Startled by the book's weight, the boy quickly lifted the tome on the table, regarding it's covers. Black leather, with silver-embed corners and a colorless round stone decorated the front page, quite old too, by what he could tell. But his mind didn't stay on the book for long. His friends' lives? Had he heard correctly? If it was so, why would he spend time reading instead of figuring how to save them? To him it didn't make sense, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do something without explanation. He swallowed hard and looked the man right up in the eyes, mouthing a decided "Why?"

The man sighed, not loosing his composture. It seemed to Daisuke that for a moment, the ebony eyes unveiled to expose a glimpse of fear and worry, a tortured soul swelling with pain. "Because time is running out," he said in his cold manner, but he didn't state whose.

Daisuke's eyes lay on the tome again. Couldn't the man read the book by himself? He was just wondering what was so special about it when by posing his hand upon the cover to open it, golden lines flared to life upon the leathered surface. Jumping he quickly drew his hand back and the lines faded. He glared upon the man quizzically, but recieved a steady look in return, as if patiently urging him on. Gathering his courage, he touched the book again. As before, the golden lines emerged, forming patterns and signs, connecting and curving, until the golden drawing was complete. Embracing the colorless gem were now ten circles, posed in a simetrical sort of way. One above, three in a vertical row on each side and below. Each of them was conected to others and had a sign of the sort that surprisingly Daisuke found out he understood. "Which language is this?" he asked, bemused.

"Jewish, it is believed," the man answered, leaning back into his chair, adjusting his glasses again, "but it doesn't matter, you'll read it in a language you can speak. What does the cover say?"

Curious, the boy concentrated on the circles, reading, "I think they're names, though the top and the bottom one has some strange marking... I think it means 'angel' or 'messiah' or..."

"Seraph." The man jumped in, but it wasn't a suggestion.

Daisuke watched him, unmoving. Perhaps the man had actually read the book. But it seemed as though he insisted on him reading it too and the boy decided he had no other choice, plus he was getting really curious now. What a wired dream I'm having, he thought again as he read. "Kether (Seraph I), Kokmah, Binah, Khesed, Geburah, Tiphareth, Neecah, Hod, Jasod, Malkut (Seraph II)..."

"Sephiroth," the man mumbled thoughtfully, but as Daisuke lifted his confused eyes to him again, he motioned him to continue, "Open it."

Throwing one last glance at the golden drawing, Daisuke tried to remember the pattern. He was sure he had seen it somewhere, in history class perhaps? Touching the book made something flare inside him, only he couldn't place his finger on what. But it made him feel respectful towards the tome in way, as if it beheld a great deal of power. So he drew the cover open, yellowish pages greeting his view. Upon the first, in ellegant black symboles, was some sort of a song.

"Sun shall come and Sun shall die  
Wars and blood shall paint the sky  
Be proud to do what thee my  
Thy faith shall find a way."

He regarded it for a moment, still wondering how in the heavens could he understand a language and typography he had never before heard of. His oak-brown eyes darted to his passive friends shyly. Miyako was sitting still, petting Hawkmon that rested comftably in her lap, her grey eyes lost in a mist on emptiness. Iori was leant back, looking up at what would be called cieling if there was any. He looked as though he was watching the shimmery violet void, titling his head to the side every now and then, emerald eyes drifting off into space.

Were they... dead? It had been said they died in an accident, hadn't it? So what were they doing here? What did it meant their lives depended on him? Daisuke couldn't dig out a single answer, but didn't want to ask, for he feared that knowing would only hurt him - as it had with Takeru. In a way, he felt as though it would be better if he had never found out about his feelings towards him, then all would be right. He would not have been burdened by them and the blonde would eventually get over him, forgetting he had ever felt that way.

As for then... the more he thought about Takeru, the more he was concerned. He could never feel the same way about him... or could he? The blonde was his best friend, the one he could always rely on, so he surely wouldn't want him any harm by feeling the way he felt. Yet what he felt was wrong, and now what he himself was starting to feel was wrong as well. No longer had he ached to be with Hikari, even less now that there was no challange presented. And his first kiss... he had no idea if it felt right or wrong, he was too windy at the time, so maybe... if Takeru kissed him one more time then he would be able to tell and let his heart at peace...

"Please, read on," the man hurried him in his formal voice, and he noded complying. Turning yet another page, neatly scrolled with the ellegant symbols, though slyghtly different in typography, he sighed deeply. The book was thick, and the time ahead was running low, but somehow he felt as though things should not be rushed, not when it came to his friends lives, not when it came to his. Because sometimes, only time knew the right path to take.X

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Right, so Neecah (the elf) is Mimi, Binah (the blind Mathron seer) is Hikari, Geburah (the comander) is Taichi, Tiphareth (the sexy prince) is Yamato, Kokmah (the mute paladin) is Takeru, Khesed (the gentle king) is Sora and Jesod (the elder monk) and Hod (the centaur) are Iyou and Koushiro. Wierd I know ¡-¡0 but... What would happen to the 02 digidestined? Who is the man with the oval glasses and why does he seem familiar? Is this story going to make any sense?! Tune in for the next chapter of: Proud - Rain of Feathers! But, before that--- REVIEW! Onegaiiiii! _

off to chapter n°12

mail to Kitsu


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